


Universal Truths

by sifuhotman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, is there anything more gay than pining hahahah, just the GAY PINING KIND, not even the dirty kind, there will be lots of touching, there's an oc but hopefully he doesn't detract from iwaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single boy in possession of the desire to kiss his male best friend is, at the very least, a little gay.[ angsty but wholesome iwaoi with a happy ending cuz in this world gays deserve happy endings and in this essay i will ]
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 90
Kudos: 333





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoy panicked gays, coming out, non-toxic relationships, supportive bros, pining, and happy endings, then holy hell, is this one for you

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single boy in possession of the desire to kiss his male best friend is, at the very least, a little gay.

Like, it’s obvious. It _should_ be obvious. It should be obvious the same way Oikawa Tooru knows he loves nothing more than winning volleyball games, or eating milk bread with butter, or dicking around with friends in during breaks at practice. It should be a simple _if/then_ statement: if it just rained, then the grass is wet. If the laundry goes through the washer, then it will be clean.

If Tooru wants to kiss Iwaizumi Hajime, then he is gay.

Well, maybe not gay, because he likes girls. But he’s definitely gay for Iwaizumi.

“Shit,” Tooru mutters. It happens more now than it did before, a panicked surge of emotion that he has to squash before it rises and overflows and he makes a mistake.

They’ve already kissed before, sort of. It was Tooru who did it, actually, when they were young and Iwaizumi was pissed at him for forgetting to put the caps on all the markers he was using to draw. Tooru pecked him on the lips as a joke to make up, because that’s what his parents do, and there wasn’t anything romantic in it. Just stupid eight-year-old kids being stupid eight-year-old kids. It earned him a headbutt and an earful of yelling, but then again, a lot of things did. And still do.

“Oikawa.” Hanamaki grabs his arm and pulls him back. “You’re gonna run into a pole.”

“Ah. Sorry. I was spacing out.”

Hanamaki taps his knuckles against Oikawa’s forehead. “Huh. It sounds more hollow than usual.”

“Maki, stop making fun of me!”

“You know, you’ve been spacing out a lot more since our Karasuno match.”

“Well, yeah.” Tooru sighs. The memory stings less than it did those first few days. He leaves it at that.

Hanamaki nods in silence. They continue walking to school, because even though his high school volleyball career has come to a close, the world hasn’t stopped. And, honestly, neither has his high school volleyball career, because he and the other third years still go to the gym every day. Technically, they already retired, but it’s not like any of them have anything else to do. 

Tooru stuffs his hands in his pockets, the brisk morning air stealing warmth from his precious fingertips. He _has_ been more absentminded than usual, but he doesn’t have the guts to tell Hanamaki that it’s not because they lost. It’s because Tooru has realized that, on the same day they lost to Karasuno High School, he was going to be losing his volleyball partner and best friend, too.

He doesn’t take Iwaizumi for granted—he never has—but up until now, when Tooru dreams about volleyball and setting and serving and winning and losing, Iwaizumi is always there. Always.

Not only are their volleyball partnership days dwindling down to a close, but so are his chances to finally admit to Iwaizumi that he wants to kiss him. The more Tooru thinks about it, the more he realizes that he’s probably wanted to kiss Iwaizumi for a while. As in, maybe even the whole time.

“Makki.” Tooru breaks the silence. “Do you ever wonder—”

“Oi! Oikawa! Hanamaki!” Iwaizumi’s voice startles both of them, gruff and heavy and even though Tooru knows there’s no way he knows what’s been on Tooru’s mind lately, his face feels hot, anyway.

Iwaizumi comes sprinting up to them, not even a moment out of breath, in the standard school uniform that somehow looks so much better on him than it does on anyone else. Loose neck tie. Rolled up sleeves—he’s not wearing the blazer today—and fitted trousers that are slightly too tight on his athletic thighs.

“Aren’t you cold like that?” Hanamaki says. It goes unanswered, because Iwaizumi has unlimited body heat, apparently.

“Good morning, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says in a singsong voice. “You look lively today.”

“Where’s Matsukawa?”

“He went early to get help from Takinami Sensei,” Hanamaki explains.

“He’s really that close to failing math, huh?”

“I’m convinced he’s faking it so he has an excuse to get one-on-one tutoring sessions with her.”

“Mattsun likes anyone with a pretty face.” Oikawa winks at Hanamaki, who groans. “That’s why he _loves_ spending time with me.”

“Let’s go to morning practice tomorrow,” Iwaizumi interrupts. “Coach wants a practice match with the underclassmen.”

“Ehh.” Hanamaki frowns. “They’re gonna get crushed.”

“I think that’s the point. He’s going to film it so they can figure out things to improve on after school. You’ll be there, right, Oikawa?”

Oikawa swallows. “I have better things to do, you know.” He puts on the whiny pout that he knows his friends hate, the one that he uses when trying to be cute to the other girls at school. They love that pout.

“Bullshit.”

“Iwa-chan, you sure are crabby today. Is it that time of the month?”

“You have three seconds before I clobber you on the head.”

“Prickly as ever, I see. I’m just so lucky Iwa-chan will always go where I go.”

Hanamaki snickers and Iwaizumi shoots him the death glare, but Oikawa laughs it off. He’s some hybrid of a jackass and a troll, and he knows it pisses Iwaizumi off to no end, but it just makes him want to do it more. Because if he fixates all his energy on wanting to annoy Iwaizumi, to make that kind of impression in his mind, then maybe, just maybe, Oikawa can forget the part where he wants Iwaizumi to kiss him.

He’d probably be grossed out, anyway, knowing that Oikawa wants to kiss him. Maybe Oikawa’s grossed out, too, not about the kissing Iwaizumi part, but the pining part. Because Oikawa Tooru does not pine. He is the one that gets pined after.

But as he’s falling into step with his best friend, his partner, his _person_ , the soft, warm skin of Iwaizumi’s forearm brushes against Tooru’s and he is way too aware of it. He steals a glance at Iwaizumi’s face, one that he always teases him for, the permanent scowl etched between his brows and at the downturned corners of his lips. Tooru likes to rub it in that he’s the pretty one, that he’s the face of Seijoh’s volleyball team that makes girls swoon and squeal.

But if he were truly being honest (which, honestly, is rare for him), Tooru knows that Iwaizumi is just as handsome. A little rough around the edges, maybe, and couldn’t give two fucks about how his scowl might drive off those same girls that fawn over Tooru.

“You’re spacing out again, Oikawa-kun.” Hanamaki’s voice breaks through his thoughts and Iwaizumi narrows his eyes.

Tooru does the responsible thing and laughs it off. “My two moms, always looking out for me.”

It earns him a sharp jab in the stomach by Iwaizumi’s elbow, and a quip from Hanamaki about how childish Tooru is, but Tooru doesn’t really take note of it. The days until graduation dangle in front of him. _Is it a deadline or an expiration date?_ With the extra second of Iwaizumi’s elbow lingering at his side, Oikawa Tooru realizes that it’s a bit of both.

It’s the date of when their ‘normal’ relationship—if it can even be called that—expires. But it’s a deadline, too, one that glares at him as the last chance Oikawa Tooru will ever get to maybe kiss Iwaizumi.

“Shit,” Tooru mutters, earning himself a glance from Iwaizumi, but he ignores it and presses on with his day, just as he’s done for the past decade.

* * *

And the thing is—and Tooru’s thought about this a lot—is that he does like girls. There’s a reason he lets himself get swept up in the female crowds. He likes it. Girls that smell nice and look up at him with big, sparkling eyes. He likes when girls have long hair and soft skin and soft lips. Tooru’s dated girls before, though they never lasted long, and he’s had sex before (only with two different girls, contrary to popular belief). So.

So he likes girls.

Even now, as he’s walking to the vending machine during lunch break, he feels the stares of girls as he passes by, the whispers muffled but filling the air. Tooru indulges in a cheeky glance with a sly smile, which earns him flushed expressions of admiration.

That smile works wonders. It got him his first kiss, when has thirteen. It has never failed him. Except with Iwaizumi, who sees it as manipulative. He isn’t wrong, but it would be so much more fun if Iwaizumi at least played along.

“You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Oikawa turns to find Iwaizumi, arms crossed.

“What look? The pretty one?” Oikawa asks. He bends down to pick up the juice box.

“You’re still upset about losing the qualifiers, aren’t you?”

“I’ll always be upset. We lost to Kageyama, of all people.” Oikawa shrugs. “It’s okay. We’ll beat him in the future.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head a little, eyebrows pressed tight together. He doesn’t say anything as they head back to the classroom, and Oikawa realizes why. There is no more _we_ in volleyball.

“You’re playing volleyball in university, right?” Oikawa asks. “You’re not going to quit.”

“I haven’t even thought that far. I need to get into university first.”

“Okay, but if you do.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I’ll figure it out if I get in. Getting accepted is the priority.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but promptly closes it. “You always think too far ahead, idiot. But somehow, you’re always still stuck in the past. Move on.”

“You’re the one that was crying when we lost.”

“You cried, too. Stop acting like you’re superior to me, Shittykawa.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you over the sound of you claiming me as the best setter and the partner you’re the proudest of in the world.”

The tips of Iwaizumi’s ears turn pink. “I take that back. You’re the worst—”

“ _Best_.”

“—good for nothing—twisted—”

“ _Proud_ to have _me_ as your _partner_.”

“—asshole—Trashkawa—”

“Really, Iwa-chan. One of these days you’ll regret all the mean insults you sent my way.” Tooru sticks his tongue out. “You’ll see me on the winner’s court after I beat Ushiwaka and Tobio, and then you’ll think, Man, I should’ve been nicer to Oikawa-san all those years we spent together.”

Iwaizumi goes uncharacteristically quiet. He sighs instead of yells, and for some reason, that scares Tooru more than if Iwaizumi came at him with a million volleyballs aimed right at the back of his head. “Maybe then you’ll realize all the grief you’ve caused me during those years,” he mutters. “I always clean up your messes.”

Tooru laughs breathily as they trot into the classroom together, knowing full well that his messes aren’t because he lacks restraint. Okay, so _sometimes_ he lacks restraint—those missed serves because he was hitting it too hard, the stomach aches he got from eating ramen too fast, the extra cavities that pepper his teeth from eating too many sweets. But he doesn’t lack restraint where it matters.

“Say, Iwa-chan…” Tooru’s voice trails off. “Let’s study after school today.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “You? Study?”

“ _Yes_. I mean it this time.”

“You only study volleyball, dumbass. I need to actually study. I can’t afford to dick around and watch Olympic games for the millionth time.”

“I promise I won’t distract you.”

“You always say that.”

“I mean it this time.”

“You always say that, too.”

“Mean.” Tooru pouts. “We don’t have to study _together_. Just, you know, together.”

“Dumbass.” But Iwaizumi’s expression softens as they sit at their desks, pulling out their lunches to eat side-by-side, the way they’ve always done since they were kids.

He supposes that, in some way, Iwaizumi has a soft spot for him, too. Tooru just wishes that were enough, that he could be satisfied with it, but he can’t help it. “If you even _try_ to pull that weird shit again,” Iwaizumi says, referring to when Tooru thought it would be funny to start putting together a dating profile for Iwaizumi, “I will kick you out of my house. I will throw you out the window and tell my parents that we’re not friends anymore and never allow you back in.”

“I promise.”

“I will personally seek a restraining order and fine you a million yen if you violate it.”

“I _promise_.”

“I will find a new setter to hit tosses with.” Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “Got it?”

Tooru’s heart stops for a second, but he pieces himself back together and gives the most dazzling of smiles. “So that means you’re going to play volleyball in university, right?”

“Dumbass.” Iwaizumi grinds his fists into the crown of Tooru’s hair.

“Ow! Iwa-chan, that hurts—you’re messing up my hair—hey!”

As much as he pouts about it, Tooru smiles, feeling at ease beside Iwaizumi despite his tumultuous emotions. There isn’t much he can do about it except to accept the fact that, for once, there are things that are out of his control. There isn’t much else to do that except count down the days until his daily friendship with Iwaizumi becomes nothing more than a nostalgic and bittersweet memory.

After all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that if Oikawa Tooru is in possession of the desire to kiss Iwaizumi Hajime, and maybe even hold hands and play volleyball and stargaze together, then that means Tooru is, at the very least, a little in love with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some insight into iwaizumi's Feelings^(TM)

Iwaizumi Hajime knows that when Oikawa invites himself over to study, it’s never just to _study_. He has some sort of ulterior motive, that guy. Sometimes Oikawa wants to go over volleyball plays, and sometimes Oikawa wants to watch _Spirited Away_ for the hundredth time. Sometimes Oikawa wants to drag Iwaizumi to the nearest coffee shop and drink espresso boba, and other times Oikawa wants to gossip about who on the team has actually kissed a girl before.

Today, Oikawa’s ulterior motive, apparently, is to get on every single one of Hajime’s seven trillion nerves.

“Can you _not_?” Hajime snaps. He’s trying really hard to focus on review his notes, but Oikawa, of course, is antsy.

“I can’t _help_ it, Iwa-chan. It’s so _boring_.”

“You said you would study.”

“I _am_ studying.”

“You’re not studying anything except for your phone.”

“Well, it’s not my fault I’m not cut out for school.” Oikawa groans and flops backward. They’re at Hajime’s house, and while Iwaizumi is craned over his desk trying his damn hardest to understand the perfect present tense in English, Oikawa is flopped onto Hajime’s bed.

This is a common occurrence for them. Oikawa rarely invites Hajime’s over to his place, and it’s probably because Oikawa tries to mark his territory every where he goes. They went to Oikawa’s place a lot more when they were kids—it’s only a five minute walk—but apparently, Hajime’s house has a greater stash of snacks and better WiFi connection. At least, that’s how Oikawa justifies it, and what kind of ulterior motive could the guy have, right?

“Hey.” Hajime grinds his teeth. “If you fail another quiz in Yokoshima Sensei’s class—”

“I’m not going to fail.” Oikawa huffs and stretches his body like cat. From the corner of his eye, Hajime can see a sliver of flat, smooth skin peeking out from the hem of Oikawa’s t-shirt.

Hajime swallows and forces himself to focus back on his reading. It’s a recent thing, sort of—noticing Oikawa’s body. Not in, like, some dirty way that he jerks off to late at night. He knows Oikawa is good-looking; there’s a reason all those fangirls trail him at every game and at almost every practice. At over 180 centimeters (a fact that Hajime is _still_ salty about, and he vaguely recalls the nights of middle school sleepovers where he’d try to push pressure points to keep him from growing taller), it’s hard to miss Oikawa’s good looks.

No, it’s the small, intimate moments that catch Hajime completely off guard. Like when Hajime catches a glance at Oikawa’s neck as he stands behind him on the court. Or when Oikawa has just stepped out of the shower and his hair falls flat against his forehead. Or the gentle curve of Oikawa’s shoulders that trace into his arms. Or how, when all the facades fall away, Oikawa always gets this really soft, vulnerable look on his face as he falls deep into thought, and the only one who’s ever actually noticed it is Hajime.

He thinks—no, he knows—that Oikawa is off in his own world, swept up in the tantalizing thoughts that paint a different universe than the one he’s in. As much as Oikawa might deny it, Hajime knows he’s ad reamer. The kind that’s so stupid and stubborn that it doesn’t matter what odds are stacked against him. It’s the same reason why Oikawa ruthlessly pursued victory over Ushijima, and the same reason why, Hajime suspects, Oikawa will do whatever he can to keep chasing volleyball, forever and ever. He honestly can’t tell if it’s spite or pride at this point, or if Oikawa truly, fully loves volleyball with every fiber of his being.

But underneath the gusto and gumption, and underneath the thousands of serves he practices and all those hours clocked in the gym, Hajime knows that Oikawa tries everything he can to keep himself together during the day. And he supposes that that’s where their friendship comes in; while Oikawa is preoccupied with driving himself into insanity by a relentless drive to be better, Hajime is there to piece him back together when he breaks. Iwaizumi Hajime may never shine on his own, but he knows that the best thing he can boast of is making sure the best setter he knows is held together at the seams.

Hajime has been worried about Oikawa, of course, since they lost the running for the Spring Tournament qualifiers. It’s been two weeks since he and Oikawa witnessed the moving image of Karasuno qualifying for nationals. Even Hajime had to admit that it was a spectacular match, and as much as he hates the sting that the words _Karasuno High School_ leaves on him, he can’t deny that they worked their asses of, and they deserved it. The problem is that Oikawa—and the rest of Seijoh—worked their asses off, too. But there can only be one winner.

But unlike last time and all the other devastating losses against Shiratorizawa, Oikawa isn’t killing himself with jump serves and staying up late running court simulations in his head. Sure, they’re in the gym almost every morning and pretty much every afternoon, messing around with their underclassmen, but Oikawa leaves alongside his friends when practice wraps up.

He wonders what is different this time.

“Hey.” Hajime puts down his pen and swivels his chair to face Oikawa, who has burrowed himself deep in the blankets and pillows of Hajime’s bed.

Oikawa doesn’t look at him, though. He gazes at the ceiling and Hajime studies his profile, seeing how the impossible stillness that is betrayed by the gentle breathing that causes his bangs to flicker, barely. “Hm?”

“You’re a lot more stable than before. It’s weird.”

“Oh? Iwa-chan is watching me? You’re making me blush.”

Hajime’s eye twitches. He knows Oikawa is putting up that playful front, and it pisses him off, but he squashes down his irritation with a heaving breath. “I thought you’d be killing yourself trying to get stronger again.”

“Ah.”

“That’s all you have to say? You’re usually such a smartass.”

Oikawa rotates onto his side, bundled up like a cocoon as his wide brown eyes blink at Hajime. “You know, Iwa-chan.” His unblinking eyes are unnerving, and Hajime feels naked before Oikawa. Off the court, he’s as observant of people’s nature and reactions, and Hajime knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Oikawa can read the hell out of him. “This is the first time where I can think about more than just volleyball.”

“That’s not true.” Hajime shakes his head. “I can hear all the volleyball matches you watch during lunch break.”

“That’s different.” Oikawa shrugs. “Did you know, we have less than half a year before we graduate?”

“Which is why you should be _studying_ so you make sure you actually graduate on time, Stupidkawa.”

“ _My point is_.” Oikawa sits up and rests his back on the headboard of Hajime’s bed. “I’m still practicing volleyball, so it’s not like that changed. But I feel like since middle school, all we ever wanted was to beat Ushijima, right?” Oikawa smiles, kind of sadly, the same smile he’d offered when the third-years formally announced their retirement from Seijoh’s volleyball club. “Maybe I can actually do things aside from volleyball in the last five months of high school.”

“Even if you set out to do that, you’ll still spend most of your free time playing volleyball.”

“Okay, but ‘most’ is not ‘all’—”

“When you should be _studying_.”

“I can spend more time with Takeru, I can spend more time with girls…” Hajime gut twists, but he shoves the feeling away, just as he’s done for the past three years. “I can spend more time with you, too, Iwa-chan. Isn’t that what you want?”

“As if I’d want to spend time with a manipulative bastard like you.”

“Yet here you are. Inviting me over for a study date with open arms.”

“Trashykawa, _you’re_ the one that invited _yourself_ over—”

“I’m going to go abroad.”

The words drop in Hajime’s room and hang there with impossibly deafening silence.

Hajime’s breath catches. “Eh?”

“I met with my Coach Blanco. Remember him?” Of course Hajime remembers him; how could he not? Like most of his childhood memories, Oikawa was there for that one, too. “He leaves in January for Argentina.”

“And you’re just going to…follow him?”

Oikawa glances at him with a _well, duh_ expression etched on his lips. On any other given day, it would’ve earned him a swift peg from a volleyball, but today, Hajime is too dumbfounded to do anything but stare. “You know I’ve been planning on playing abroad.”

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Nah.” Oikawa shrugs. “It’s earlier than anyone anticipated, including myself, but if I’m going to keep going at it, then I gotta give hundred percent.”

Hajime clears his throat. “You have five months, then. To decide if you’re ballsy enough to do it.”

“You think I won’t?”

Hajime thinks back to those words he said to his friend. How he’ll chase volleyball forever and never be satisfied with every tournament he plays in. “I didn’t say that.”

After a brief moment, Oikawa resumes his typical fuckery with a snide, “Hey, shouldn’t you be studying right now?”

“I hate you.”

“Iwa-chan, your wrinkles are showing again. None of the girls are going to want to talk to you if you always have them.”

“Fuck off, Oikawa.”

A sensation like a knife twisting in his chest jerks Hajime away from his thoughts and into his body. He knows Oikawa is as ruthless as they come, and he knew that Oikawa has always had a huge international move written somewhere in his plans. He just never expected that would mean that Oikawa would sprint into a completely uncharted world like abroad right after they graduate from high school.

A looming sensation hangs over Hajime’s head as he turns back to his notes: for the first time in their decade of friendship, Hajime will be left in the dust.

Because Hajime is not going to be even remotely close to Oikawa. He's toyed with the idea of going to America, but Argentina? Oikawa doesn't even speak Spanish, can barely speak English.

Even the prospect of America is daunting, daunting enough that he hasn't brought it up with anyone yet. Hajime knows distant family members there're and a couple alum from Seijoh, but he's got a life here, he has family here, and he’s never imagined living anywhere except for Japan. Part of that life in Japan includes a very annoying, very manipulative force of nature that is Oikawa Tooru. The force of nature that blows through Hajime’s life like a storm and makes it a living hell, sometimes, but also makes it the closest thing to paradise that he’s ever experienced.

And, well, Iwaizumi Hajime has been in love with Oikawa for the better part of their high school years—a fact that he begrudgingly and regrettably came to terms with. It’s only now, when it hits him that their time together is truly limited in every sense of the word, that Hajime realizes that he has to do something about it, or live to regret it for the rest of his life.

Yet as he glances over at Oikawa, who’s lost interest in the conversation and is now texting furiously on his phone, Hajime can’t possibly imagine a world where he can come out and admit those truths to him.

He’s never talked to Oikawa about it. Knowing Oikawa’s personality and the deep levels of trust and respect they share, the whole ‘liking boys’ thing won’t be a problem. Maybe Oikawa will make fun of him for it, but in the end, Hajime knows that Oikawa will accept every part of him, including the parts that like boys as much as he likes girls. The real concern is whether Oikawa would ever accept the part of Hajime that likes his _best friend_.

So he’ll just hold those truths. Quietly. Sincerely. And most of all, privately, where no one else can see them, except in the late, lonely hours of the night, when Hajime sheds his responsible and diplomatic and logical caretaking persona, and instead imagines a different world where he can be himself.

“Hello. _Hello_. Iwa-chan, you’re thinking too hard. You’ll sprain your two brain cells if you keep staring like that.”

Hajime pushes his way out of the muddle of thoughts as he says, "Shut the fuck up, Shittykawa," and turns back to his notes, knowing full well that he won’t be learning anything tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think the fandom likes to play off oikawa as this chaotic fucking whacky ass bitch (in the most loving way possible), but i think he's such a complex and compelling character. not only do we know how much he works and how deep insecurities run, but we also see how ruthlessly committed he is to improvement. i would've loved to see a spin off series about the seijoh boys. 
> 
> also, as much as iwaizumi is constantly keeping oikawa in line and trying to contain oikawa's outward ego, i've always had a sense that there's something poignant about the fact that iwaizumi really trusts and respects oikawa. underneath oikawa's facade is a hardworking, earnest person that iwaizumi knows other people don't see. i kind of love that. even if they're not romantic canon, there's still a deep love that they share for one another and i wish we normalized that kind of friendship between men more often.
> 
> anyway. enough of me rambling lmao.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because who doesn't love romantic catalysts in the form of third-party confessions ??!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hear ye hear ye mayhaps there might be some anticipated gay awakenings that i smell?????

There’s another girl that approaches him, around lunch time like always, and Tooru has to pick up the pieces of her confession as he shatters her delusions. Once again.

Tooru doesn’t mind the girls. They’re entertaining and he gets free snacks and their cheers make him play better in games. What really bothers him, honestly, is the part where they actually confess to him, like it’s serious. As if Tooru could ever take anything besides volleyball seriously.

Even Haruka, his ex-girlfriend, took him seriously, like it wasn’t some extended fling they shared. Oikawa had entertained their two-month relationship because, at the time, it felt nice to be able to blow off steam in anticipation of the Interhigh qualifiers. The looming threat of Shiratorizawa made Tooru particularly antsy, which made the idea of having a reliable hookup partner more desirable. Haruka was pretty and smart and a good kisser, and she let him get away with being an asshole—until Seijoh lost _again_ , and Tooru became such a loser in his wallowing self-pity that she dumped his ass.

Whatever. It gave him more time. Just like how, with very confession Tooru turns down, he’s able to secure that time for more volleyball practice.

“Heartless.” Matsukawa pokes at Tooru’s forehead with the stubbly eraser end of his pencil. “How many girls is that this year? Fifteen?”

“Like I even count.”

“You need to stop flirting with them.” Matsukawa shakes his head, thick and dark hair swishing back and forth. “Coach was kind of pissed last practice game.”

“He’s not our coach anymore.”

“I know. But still. It’s just unnecessary, you know?”

Tooru’s eyebrows pinch together as he stretches out his right quad, which has been bothering him for the past couple of days (probably because he’s slacked off on warming up before practice, but whatever). “I can’t stop spectators from coming to watch our practice matches.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.” Matsukawa chuckles to himself and Tooru can’t help but feel irritated, for some reason.

“How do you even know about that? I only told—”

“All of the kids in my class are gossiping about it,” Kindaichi comments. The girl who confessed had been a first year, after all, and it’s just Tooru’s luck that they happened to be in the same class, too. Even though Kindaichi says he’s not responsible at all for any of it—that he had no part in that nameless first year’s decision to pull Tooru aside to confess—the smirk that played across his and Kunimi’s lips said otherwise.

“You’d better let them know your senpai didn’t do anything wrong.”

Matsukawa snorts. “False. Your senpai is the definition of a sleazeball.”

“Don’t break their hearts.” Hanamaki laughs as Tooru attempts to lob a ball at him. “We can’t help all the senpai we all had a crush on, right, Kindaichi?” The flush across Kindaichi’s face doesn’t go unmissed.

“I—”

“Oh, man. I had the biggest crush on Tsujikawa my first year.”

“First year crushes on third year students are inevitable.” Kindaichi scowls as Hanamaki ruffles his hair both teasingly and affectionately. “It’s a rite of passage.”

“I don’t have—”

“Although I think Iwaizumi has you beat, Oikawa.” Matsukawa grins. “I’m pretty sure there are more juniors crushing on him than on you.”

“Except Kindaichi, of course.”

“I do _not_ have a crush on Oikawa-san.”

“I’d question your taste if you did,” Kunimi deadpanned in that impossibly flat, bored voice of his, and Tooru shrieks in frustration. “Not that it was ever good to begin with.”

“I hate you both,” Tooru mutters, which elicits some snickers. Kindaichi and Kunimi had been fairly tame and extremely compliant with Tooru’s personality, but ever since he and the other third years retired, there’s a brazen streak that runs along them now. They’ll always be his underclassmen, but he supposes they’ll grow, too, as he watches Kindaichi serve another powerful ball across the net.

Even though he’s not a captain, he can feel the encouraging remarks bubbling on his tongue. The mechanical dissection of Kindachi’s jump serve, from the slightly-too-far-forward toss to the unstable jump. It’s a huge improvement, though, from when Kindaichi first started trying jump serves, and Tooru has a feeling that it’ll become a lethal weapon by the time the next Interhigh qualifiers roll around.

“I guess you have time for that kind of thing now,” Hanamaki says, one hand propped on his hip. He tosses a stray ball toward Watari, who feeds it seamlessly to Yahaba to set. Tooru has never said it out loud, but he enjoys these moments the most, these days: the moments where he can see the baton being passed from his class to the younger members of Seijoh’s volleyball team. “Right?”

“Time for what?”

“Dating. Girls. I dunno. Whatever it is you perverted folk think about.”

“Perverted? How am I _perverted_?”

“Dude, have you seen yourself? You are the definition of perverted.”

“Old pervert man,” Matsukawa adds, “with young pervert tendencies.”

“What does that even mean?” Tooru huffs. “Just because _I_ am capable of talking to girls doesn’t make me a pervert.”

“Have you even seen yourself?”

“Oi. Instead of standing around looking pretty, how about you actually warm up properly?” Iwaizumi’s voice breaks through the third years’ banter. “If one of you gets injured—”

“Aw, Iwa-chan.” Hanamaki’s voice takes on a tone uncannily similar to Tooru’s typical jeering voice, and Tooru can’t tell if he’s annoyed by Hamanki’s use of Tooru’s nickname or if he’s amused by the jeer that is extremely characteristic of what Tooru would’ve said anyway. “You think we’re pretty?”

“That’s a wonderful compliment, but for some reason I don’t trust your judgement.” Matsukawa crosses his arm.

“Yes, yes.” Tooru nods. “Because we all know _I_ am the pretty one, not Mattsun or Makki. Right?”

“That’s not what we meant.”

“Name someone more self-absorbed than Oikawa. I’ll wait.”

“What is it that Karasuno’s number ten calls him? ‘Cool King’?”

“I think it was ‘Great King.’ Or something like that.”

“Ah, well. All kings are self-absorbed in one way or another. That can’t be helped.”

“I’m losing brain cells,” Iwaizumi mutters, and Tooru can’t help but suppress a grin. There’s something comforting about the way Iwaizumi’s eyebrows draw down low over his eyes, a sharp angle that tells bystanders, _do not even fucking think about fucking with me_. Iwaizumi always radiated this kind of intensity about him, whether he was taking a math test or running up for a spike. One that Tooru imagines would appear in perverted, intimate scenarios, like being shoved up against the wall—

_Hold on one damn second._

“Oi. Stupidkawa. Stop spacing out.” Iwaizumi pegs a ball at him—one that Tooru catches at the last minute—and wipes at his forehead, which has already become dusted with sweat. “Toss me a few balls, will you?”

“I thought we were supposed to be helping the underclassmen with serves? Isn’t that what you said, Iwa-chan?”

“Shut up and just toss me a few,” Iwaizumi says. “Okay? I’m not in the mood.”

Tooru considers, just for a brief moment, pressing him on this, but he saw the way Iwaizumi acted yesterday. It’s like he’s walking on eggshells every time he’s run into him today, and maybe it’s just a bit of wishful thinking, but Tooru has entertained the idea that maybe it’s because he dropped the bomb about moving abroad. It’s not official yet, not technically, but that doesn’t matter—the news has been shared, first with Iwaizumi, and then with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. He’ll share the news later, maybe a month or two before graduation, to underclassmen and to his coach, but until then, it presses at the back of the third years’ minds.

“Okay,” Tooru finally says. It isn’t often that Iwaizumi gets testy with him, and as much as Tooru trusts their relationship and the stable dynamics between them, he doesn’t quite know how to navigate when Iwaizumi is the moody one and not him.

As their juniors go ahead and begin practice—starting with serves—the third years take a lone court to practice tosses and spikes, although for Tooru this isn’t much practice so much as it is something to do. There are probably better ways for him to refine his skills, like seeking out the local university’s practice matches with neighboring schools, or even heading over to Shiratorizawa for a few games.

Those practices are certainly productive, but for the first time, Tooru doesn’t really feel like being productive when it comes to volleyball. He’s going to Argentina, anyway, which is a somewhat vague goal in itself. Besides, Tooru can’t deny that productivity gets trumped by the sheer comfort he gets every time he sends the ball in a high smooth arch, slightly close to the net but far enough that Iwaizumi can pick the direction he jumps from.

Iwaizumi had once told him that he’s the best setter, regardless of where they’re playing, whether they were on the same side of the net or opposite sides. What he failed to realize that Tooru feels the most at ease and the most like himself when Iwaizumi’s there, too.

After the sixth spike, Tooru decides to take his chances. “Iwa-chan, are you okay? You seem…” his voice falters. “It seems like there’s something upsetting you.”

Iwaizumi shrugs and tosses him another ball, spiking it flawlessly from the quick that Tooru tosses in the center. He doesn’t say anything. Then again, there are times like these when he never does.

Tooru suspects that Iwaizumi knows, to some extent, the feelings that he has for his childhood best friend. Affection, love, lust, comfort—those are all feelings that Tooru felt, and even if he succeeds in hiding it from his teammates (except for Hanamaki; that son of a bitch somehow knows _everything_ ), Iwaizumi reads him like a book. He knows the contours of his expressions in and out. He was the first one to realize that Tooru had been dumped; he was the first one to judge in middle school that Tooru was at his breaking point. It’s _always_ been Iwaizumi, from the start.

Iwaizumi hesitates. He pulls at the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat on his temple, and Tooru can’t help it; he ogles Iwaizumi’s six pack is probably things that causes Seijoh’s team to drool over him. Tooru’s known that, although he’s a source of admiration and encouragement to his juniors, it’s not romantic or sexual in any way at all. The only upperclassmen who has that kind of power is Iwaizumi, who, ever since he accepted last year that he would likely not break six feet, decided to turn to muscle building over height.

And holy fucking hell, has it worked for him.

His previously slender frame is now roped with solid muscle. Although Tooru is impartial to the human anatomy itself, he has grown a newfound appreciation for back muscles, for shoulder muscles, for glutes, and thighs. If he has to choose a favorite, it’d be Iwaizumi’s shoulders and arms. Tooru’s definitely cracked some jokes in the Seijoh group chat about it (“anyone who’d let Iwa-chan’s arms choke them willingly say I”), and it’s pretty clear that Iwaizumi is oblivious, at least, to the fact that he’s not joking at all.

It seems as though his teammates have noticed it, too, especially the younger ones who are still a little gangly and growing into their adolescent frames. That should probably make Tooru jealous (because of that whole wanting-to-kiss-Iwaizumi-thing-in-a-maybe-and-probably-very-gay-way). All these other greedy eyes are watching _his_ Iwaizumi the same way he is, but, truth be told, he can’t blame them at all. A fellow spectator of art doesn’t stop others from looking, and Iwaizumi is most definitely a work of God’s creation. It’s not like Iwaizumi’s getting any, anyway, and Tooru’s almost certain that Iwaizumi’s never even kissed a girl before, or anyone else, for that matter. So what’s the harm in peeking a little bit when Iwaizumi bends over to pick up the volleyballs off the ground?

Tooru clears his throat. “You’re being a little stiff, that’s all. Not like you’re playing badly. It’s just—you don’t seem as free as usual, Iwa-chan, and it makes me think that something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, and too fast, like he’s trying to convince himself rather than answer Tooru.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Shut up before I punch you.” The threat sounds deflated.

“Okay,” Tooru says in that annoying singsong voice. Which, honestly, he doesn’t even like, either, but it seems to piss off opponents and annoy Iwaizumi, so he uses it quite frequently. “Don’t come crying to me if you want to talk about it and I’m too busy for you, Iwa-chan, because my schedule is super full, you know.”

Finally, he says the words that Tooru never expected, not from him, not from _his_ Iwaizumi, the one who was supposed to put Tooru first, always. “There’s someone.”

“Oh.” The words come crashing down. Two simple words that could mean anything and still mean so much, because the uncertainty that flickers across Iwaizumi’s face makes it clear that it’s not just _someone_ and that someone is not just _there_. “And?”

“And…well, you already know. You deal with this stuff all the time.”

Tooru nods. “So what’s the problem? Is she not smart enough for you?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and reaches for his water battle. A bead of sweat trails down his neck as he takes a deep drink, and Tooru watches Iwaizumi’s lip close around the cap, wondering about Iwaizumi’s lips on his in the same motion, Iwaizumi’s lips doing other things—

 _Shit. Maybe I am a pervert_.

“Then what is it? If you don’t like her, you can just tell her that. Most girls, they might cry a little, but they’re understanding if you’re up front about it.” Tooru laughs nervously. “You’re honest, so it’ll be easy for you to do that. And _maybe_ you have some more emotional sensitivity than I do. Just a little more.”

“It’s not that, either, Oikawa, I—”

“Then what? So you got confessed to. That’s great! It was a long time coming, anyway, even though I can’t blame whoever it was because you’re _clearly_ being compared to me. Since we stand next to each other all the time.”

Iwaizumi gets this unreadable expression on his face, and Tooru tries to decode it, to no avail. Does he actually _like_ this girl? Is this actually happening right now? As a best friend, Tooru is happy that Iwaizumi is finally getting attention he deserves, but as a pining best friend, Tooru can’t help but feel a little…offput by this turn of events.

He really _is_ a shitty guy.

“That’s the issue.”

“What’s the issue? That you actually have free time to deal with this stuff? Lucky, lucky! Good timing. I got a confession, too, and even though we have more free time, I turned her down because I know there’ll be someone else asking me out that I’ll actually like. Which you forced into my head, by the way, so thanks for that.”

“Not sure if it worked,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

“But for Iwa-chan, well, this is big news, isn’t it? No one’s ever confessed before.”

“No one’s ever confessed before,” Iwaizumi repeats.

“This is a good thing.” So why did Iwaizumi seem so sour about it?”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Even though Tooru knows the fallout that happens with rejection, he nods. “It _is_. She’s a smart girl for choosing to confess now, anyway.” 

Iwaizumi hesitates. His eyes aren’t looking at Tooru, which is unusual, because unless there’s a ball in the air, Iwaizumi’s eyes are _always_ fixed on Tooru, at least glancing at him. Tooru tries to ignore the white-hot twisting that captures his chest. It’s the same ache he feels when they lose a pivotal match, the same ache hehas to squash down in order to shake hands with the team and thank spectators for their support.

“It’s not a she.” Iwaizumi blurts out, and Tooru’s world comes tumbling down faster than he can say _rolling receive_ , and with the next words, he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be ecstatic, heartbroken, or terrified. “It’s a he.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. oikawa is so fckn thirsty for iwaizumi lmao
> 
> 2\. and tbh the whole seijoh team is thirsty for iwaizumi
> 
> 3\. and not to get ahead of myself but the entire japan olympics team is thirsty for iwaizumi hah
> 
> 4\. i wasn't sure if i was going to go this route but now that i've started it i can't get off: iwaizumi learning to date by dating a Boy and oikawa being Gay and Angsty
> 
> 5\. i wrote this all today it's 1:30am i'll see myself out goodbye


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi makes a decision

Hajime swallows as Oikawa's eyes widen in surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“A third year. From my class.”

“Do I know him?”

Hajime shakes his head as he bends down to pick up a stray volleyball. “I don’t think so.” The truth is, Hajime is just as shocked himself. He’s never really gotten much attention from anyone, really, although it’s hard to tell if it’s because he’s unapproachable, undesirable, or too focused on volleyball to be a candidate for anything unrelated to it. “His name is Nakatani Satoshi.”

“I don’t know a Nakatani.”

“Yeah, he moved to Miyagi last year.” Hajime scratches at the back of his neck. Nakatani sits behind him in class, and now that he confessed to Hajime, he feels extra self-conscious about the bare skin that peeks out from his t-shirt, beneath the frayed ends of his unruly hair. “He’s in the basketball club.”

“Ooo. The basketball third-years are all super handsome. Which one is he?”

Against his will, Hajime’s face burns a bright scarlet. “He has dark curly hair.”

“Oh! I know him. He’s tall, right? Taller than me.”

“They're all tall, Stupidkawa. But, yeah, I guess. He’s definitely taller than me. We’ve eaten lunch together a couple of times with some other classmates and we were in study groups before. I guess he came to some of our games.”

“Really?”

“He was at the Interhigh qualifier matches.”

Oikawa blinks and tilts his head to the side. Hajime hates that it makes his heart skip a beat. “Oh.” He chews on his lower lip—a rare sign that he’s at a loss for words—before continuing. “What did you say?”

“I said thanks?” Hajime shrugs. He flings a ball high in the air, and Oikawa sets it easily for Hajime to spike.

“Just thanks?” Oikawa barks a laugh and Hajime feels a flush creep from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Someone said, ‘I like you,’ and you said, ‘ _Thanks’_?”

“Fuck off.”

“I can see your future now, Iwa-chan. ‘Will you marry me?’ ‘Thanks.’”

“I said fuck _off_.”

Oikawa laughs and Hajime rolls his eyes, still slightly embarrassed. If he’s being honest, he didn’t realize it was supposed to be _that_ kind of like until the word _date_ slipped from Nakatani’s mouth.”

Nakatani Satoshi is, by all means, an attractive guy. He has thick hair that is swept to the side, a stud in his left ear lobe, and an easygoing smile. Like most basketball players, Nakatani is built with lean, solid muscle, and he has high cheekbones and a jaw line sharper enough to cut diamond. If Hajime were into boys, as in, _all_ boys and not just Oikawa, then he’d probably have a crush on him.

Maybe he _is_ into all boys. He doesn’t know. In fact, Hajime has never paid much attention to Nakatani, or anyone, for that matter; Oikawa and volleyball take up most of his mental and visual space. So it had surprised him to find Nakatani waiting for him by his locker after school, leaning against it with his arms crossed and dark eyes surprisingly bright. “Oi, Iwaizumi. Got a second? Are you on your way to volleyball?”

He’d replied curtly that he had a few minutes but yes, he was busy, and Nakatani said something about being impressed about the Interhigh qualifiers matches that he attended. _That_ surprised Hajime, but not as much when, in the middle of pulling out his sneakers from his locker, Hajime was thrown for a loop when Nakatani said, “I like you. I think you’re cool.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“We should hang out some time.” A pause. “Like on a date.”

Hajime’s brain failed to fully process what was going on until Nakatani slipped him a piece of paper with his number written on it, flashed him one of those smiles, and said, “Have fun at practice, Iwaizumi!”

So, yeah, he’s a little distracted, even though his spikes feel as solid as ever. That small slip of paper is burning a hole in his mind, squashed in the pages of his notebook for English. “He gave me his number.”

“That’s cool! Have you texted him yet? What did you say? No, wait, you’re probably waiting until after practice to text him, right? Are you going to say yes?”

Hajime rubs the back of his neck with his palm, still tingling from the sensation of swatting down the volleyballs. His friends tease him all the time for lacking in the romance department, which he usually ignores (because, yeah, it’s true, he’s never been kissed, aside from the time Oikawa stole a kiss from him when they were kids). Hanamaki in particular has always tried to get Hajime to talk about who he’s interested in or what type of person he’s interested in or if he’s going to ask anyone out. Matsukawa has tried to set him up with some of the girls in his class, though nothing’s ever come out of it. And Oikawa, well, he hogs all the attention when it comes to love letters and confessions, so it feels odd to be the targeted one about this.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Oikawa crosses his arms and frowns. “Okay, first of all, it’s rude to ignore confessions. You should have the decency to at least respond properly. Second, why not? Are you into boys, Iwa-chan? There’s nothing wrong with that.” Hajime flinches. “But if you’re not, you should tell him you aren’t so he can move on.”

Hajime’s stomach clenches, and he has to suppress an urge to vomit or pass out or something in between. “I…” His tongue runs so dry that it feels like sand in his mouth. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with it?”

Oikawa pauses for a moment. In that moment, Hajime’s mind calculates about four different possibilities of what he’s about to say next. 1. _Ew! It’s gross, Iwa-chan!_ 2\. _I mean, I don’t like it, but I trust your judgement._ 3\. _I don’t care if you are. You’re still my friend_. And, the unlikely number 4: _I am, too, and whatever feelings you might have for me are mutual_.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, Oikawa says, “When have you ever asked me if I thought what you’re doing is wrong?”

A small smile lifts itself at the corner of Hajime’s lips. As expected, Oikawa is supportive in his own way. Despite his ridiculous comments and his manipulative demeanor, Hajime knows that Oikawa would rather die than give up the friendship they share. Hajime may hunger for more than friendship, and maybe he always has, but the foundation that was established when they were elementary students has not changed.

“Do you _want_ to date boys?”

Hajime swallows again, this time thickly. His voice, usually unwavering and sure of itself, doesn’t feel like his own. “I don’t know.”

What he really means is: _Unless they’re you, I don’t know_.

He hasn’t told anyone about Nakatani’s confession. No one else was around, and it literally happened twenty minutes ago. He doesn’t even know if he’ll tell Hanamaki or Matsukawa, though he suspects that they’ll find out eventually. Either way, Hajime’s beginning to realize that he’s not just confronted with Nakatani’s feelings for him, but he’s confronted with _himself_.

What does he want, besides Oikawa?

“If you want my dating advice—”

“I don’t,” Hajime says, too quickly.

Oikawa smiles wryly, a delightful burn in his eyes that is unknown to the world. Oikawa Tooru has a lot of faces, but the one he’s showing Hajime now, in the middle of a clamoring gymnasium with their friends and juniors scuttling in the background, is one that Hajime knows no one else has seen. It’s the one that he first shared when Oikawa tossed to him the first time, nearly a decade ago. “Sometimes you figure out what you want by going for it and worrying about the consequences later.”

Hajime rolls his eyes at the sly remark and pegs a ball at him, earning himself squeals of protests from Oikawa, who, Hajime suspects, has not properly considered the magnitude of what he’s just said.

“I won’t tell anyone, by the way.” Oikawa winks at him, and Hajime knows he’s doing it to try and make him feel a little better, that things are still ordinary despite this curious wrench that’s been thrown into his current situation. “Unless you want to tell people. Then I’ll tease you relentlessly because it’s fun. But your secret’s safe with me.”

“Yeah? When have you ever not had a big mouth, Stupidkawa?”

“My mouth isn’t big!”

“Yes, it is. It’s big and stupid, like you.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out and laughs as Hajime raises another ball, a non-serious threat that another one will come flying towards Oikawa’s head. “You’re just jealous because I’m taller than you, Chibiwa-kun.”

“Don’t call me chibi. And don’t combine ‘chibi’ with my name.”

“Chibiwa-chan? Is that better?”

“No, it’s not.”

“I learned from the best!”

Hajime wants to ask Oikawa if he likes boys. If there’s a way to know that he likes boys, if it’s okay to question it, because if even questioning his sexuality, shouldn’t that mean something? It’s rare for Hajime to question anything, really, because either something is a fact or it isn’t. There’s no use in creating endless scenarios and wallowing on the _what ifs_ and _maybes_.

He guesses that the turning point must have been the Spring qualifiers semifinals match, with Karasuno. That was the first time Hajime can remember wallowing. Questioning himself. His value as an ace. What volleyball meant to him without Oikawa.

“Oi. _Oi_. Chibiwa-kun. I’m going to toss to your face if you keep standing there spacing out.”

“For the record, I don’t think it’s gross if you realize you want to date boys.” Oikawa offers a softer smile, one that makes Hajime’s heart skip a beat. “I won’t look at you differently because of it, okay? So you figure out what you want.”

Well, that’s the problem. Hajime, against his wishes, wants Oikawa to look at him differently.

The moment breaks when Oikawa sticks his face in Hajime’s personal space, so close that he can feel Oikawa’s breath fanning against his cheeks. “Now hit my tosses, asshole.”

“Shut up. I was just going to do that.” And, in an effort to force things back to normal, Hajime shoves Oikawa by the forehead, ignoring how he likes the feel of his hair nestled between his fingers. Hajime does just that, hitting spike after spike, until his mind is nothing but a blank slate of Oikawa tossing to him and Hajime hitting it. The looming question of what to do with Nakatani fades, at least for now.

* * *

He returns to that question later. Freshly showered and lying in bed, Hajime holds the paper slip up to the light.

> **Here’s my number if you want it.**
> 
> **—Nakatani Satoshi from class**

And his number underneath.

Nakatani’s letters are precise. Sharp angles, no unnecessary squiggles or crossing out. It’s a contrast to Oikawa, whose notes are always smudged and have doodles in the margins or to-do lists scrawled off to the side. Oikawa’s birthday cards to Hajime are always a mess, yet he manages to decipher it anyway.

Hajime knows he doesn’t have feelings for Nakatani. Not now, anyway, and Nakatani seems like a nice person. Nothing good could possibly come out of going on a date with Nakatani, especially when Hajime’s hopelessly in love with his best friend.

But Oikawa’s words echo in his mind: _Sometimes you figure out what you want by going for it and worrying about the consequences later_.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Hajime punches in Nakatani’s number. He doesn’t save the contact name, but instead types out a short, straightforward message.

> Hey, Nakatani-san. It’s Iwaizumi. I don’t know if I’m ready to go on a date or anything like that but I’m free to hang out this weekend if you want. Let me know.

Hajime reads the text once, twice. A third time. An image of Oikawa laughing flashes through his mind. Holding his breath, he hits send before shutting off his phone, placing it next to him, and turning off the lights to fall into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been really busy at work these days. plus the fires on the west coast have really made the air bad, so that's no fun.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa makes a decision

Tooru is not pleased.

He wishes he could be happy that his friend is finally even thinking about romance, which is a huge step in the forward direction. There was a brief period last year where Hanamaki was seeing someone, and it excited Tooru to no end. But Tooru is not pleased with the recent development of Iwaizumi ‘being’ with someone that isn’t him.

Technically, Iwaizumi and Nakatani aren’t dating. Iwaizumi has said it more times than Tooru can count, more times than necessary. Hanamaki and Matsukawa have figured it out: there’s someone else besides Tooru and them and the rest of the volleyball club who Iwaizumi has been hanging out with, and Iwaizumi begrudgingly admitted that it was Nakatani. Their friends, of course, couldn’t give two shits about who Iwaizumi’s dating; it’s the fact that Iwaizumi’s ‘dating’ (or whatever he’s doing with Nakatani) that they really get a kick out of.

Tooru doubts they’ve even held hands yet, let alone kissed or done anything else. Iwaizumi would never be the kind of guy to go from never-been-kissed to kissing-someone-who’s-practically-a-stranger (unlike Tooru). He’s a polite gentleman, and sometimes Tooru wishes Iwaizumi _was_ a jerk who went around kissing people, if it meant those people meant nothing to him. But Iwaizumi treats everyone with respect and dignity, offering blunt honestly wrapped in kindness and good intentions. Which means he’s treating Nakatani that way, too.

Even though Iwaizumi hasn’t admitted to anything romantic with Nakatani, and even though he says they’re just hanging out and getting to know each other, Tooru sees something different in the way Iwaizumi has talked about him.

And Tooru is _jealous_.

He tries to reason with himself: after all, Tooru has had more relationships than his friends can keep track of. He doesn’t get to be jealous of all the moments Nakatani steals, all the time with Iwaizumi ripped from Tooru's hands. From a purely objective standpoint, it’s silly, and petty, and as much as Iwaizumi teases Tooru for being a selfish jackass all the time, Tooru knows that, deep down, it’s not because he’s a terrible person. He’s insecure, and no longer being Iwaizumi’s number one person grinds his gears more than he’d ever admit.

Tooru has met Nakatani once. He has seen Nakatani around campus, because Tooru usually notices all boys who are taller than him, partially out of admiration and partially out frustration (because it’s such a _waste_ to be that tall but not be on the volleyball team). He has seen photos of Nakatani on the school bulletin board and he has mutual friends who pose for pictures with him occasionally. There’s this one particular image, one that somehow made its way onto Twitter, that made Nakatani low-tier viral for some time there, right as he’s shooting a perfect three-pointer in the last seconds of a game.

Tooru knows who Nakatani Satoshi is, and that he’s someone who regular mortals could never even dream about competing with. They briefly because he showed up at practice, and Iwaizumi stepped out to talk to him. Tooru acted like he had to go to the bathroom so he could ‘accidentally’ bump into them, and with flushed cheeks, Iwaizumi introduced them to one another.

_Nakatani-kun, this is my childhood friend, Oikawa._

He wonders why Iwaizumi hasn’t bothered introducing them sooner. Tooru _is_ his best friend, so shouldn’t they get to know each other anyway?

Iwaizumi’s never called him _Oikawa-kun_ or even _Tooru-kun_. Like, yeah, Tooru calls Iwaizumi a stupid childish nickname, but he calls everyone stupid childish nicknames, and Iwaizumi calls Tooru variations of ‘asshole’ combined with ‘Oikawa.’ It never bothered him before. But it bothers him now.

One day later, Tooru peeked through the doorway of Iwaizumi's classroom between periods on the way to the bathroom. Nakatani had pulled up a chair in next to Iwaizumi’s desk, his elbow barely brushing against his. It wasn’t any more intimate than the barely-there-grazes Tooru indulged in when Iwaizumi wasn’t paying attention, and no one else in the classroom seemed to notice.

Tooru, however, noticed. He noticed the way Iwaizumi’s gaze softened, how his typically tense shoulders—a byproduct of being Tooru’s friend, probably—slouched down as the corners of his lips curled up at something Nakatani said. It lasted a miniscule second until Iwaizumi burst out laughing.

For the longest time, Tooru had always associated Iwaizumi with sternness, reliability, and intensity. Yet as Tooru peeked around the doorway and saw Iwaizumi laughing alongside Nakatani, that bastard, it occurred to him that maybe he was like that because he was friends with Tooru. Between the two of them, Tooru was the laughing jackass, and Iwaizumi was the stern, level-headed, serious one.

All of those beloved characteristics of _his_ Iwaizumi melted away in that instant, and Tooru doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Should he feel guilty? Relieved that Iwaizumi could be an easygoing guy? Annoyed that Iwaizumi is able to laugh easily like that around someone else?

Well. It doesn’t matter, because Tooru is still pissed.

So pissed, in fact, that he skips volleyball practice that afternoon. He makes up a lame excuse about having to study for world history class (which is somewhat true, since he barely passed his last exam). Iwaizumi has been ‘seeing’ this guy for two weeks and _already_ it’s gotten to the point where Tooru is so thrown that he skips volleyball. Once, then twice, and now a third day a row. He can’t remember the last time he skipped practice. Actually, now that he reconsiders it, he doesn’t think he’s ever skipped practice willingly before.

Iwaizumi texted him, once.

Hey dumbass where have you been

Tooru doesn’t reply.

“Oi.”

Tooru looks up from his bed, where he’s (sort of) reading his boring textbook, only to find Matsukawa towering in his doorway. It’s been an eerily quiet afternoon, something Tooru thinks he’ll never get used to. He’s used to the squeaking of court shoes scuttling across polished wood and the smacks of volleyball spikes swishing through the air. He’s used to the sound of his friends’ groaning when he says a stupid one-liner and the way Iwaizumi yells at him like a teacher scolding their student.

“Who let you in?”

“Your mom. She was on her way out to get groceries. She told me to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“She also told me you’re being a loser for skipping practice.”

“I need to study for my exam so I can graduate.” Tooru sticks out his tongue playfully, forcing himself not to think about _that_ , not to think about anything. “Why’re you here anyway? Why aren’t _you_ at practice?”

“I pulled a muscle this morning.” Matsukawa tosses his bag at the foot of Tooru’s bed and collapses beside Tooru, shoving his lanky legs aside. “My quad. I think it’s from my run yesterday. It’s fine now, but hurt like a bitch, so I’m giving it a couple days to rest.”

“You’re probably overworking yourself.”

“Funny, coming from you.”

“Shut up. Why’re you here?”

Matsukawa pulls the book from Tooru’s limp hands and flips through it absentmindedly. “I’m making sure your stupid self isn’t wallowing like you usually do. You never skip practice, so I figured something was up. There has to be a reason for you to not be at practice, even if you told us you’re just too busy to come.”

“We’re not even part of the club anymore, technically.”

“Yeah? And has that ever stopped you?”

Tooru sighs, sitting upright. Matsukawa, despite his sleepy demeanor, is equally as sharp as Iwaizumi and Hanamaki. The three of them can read him, sometimes better than Tooru can read himself, and he doesn’t know if he should feel comforted by it or bothered.

“You’re not injured, are you?”

Tooru shakes his head. “No.”

“Then what’s up? We’re getting worried.”

“We?”

“All of us. It’s weird being in the gym without you terrorizing everyone who’s even a little bit near you.” Matsukawa reaches into his bag and pulls out a squashed package of milk bread. “Okay, so you’re not hurt. Hanamaki, Iwaizumi, and I got you this because we were worried you have an injury, or that you were still upset about getting kicked out of Spring Tournament qualifiers. But I guess you don’t need it.”

Tooru’s stomach rumbles, suddenly realizing that he’s hungry. “No, wait—”

Matsukawa’s thick eyebrows scrunch as his eyes narrow. He analyzes him the same methodical, careful way he analyzes the opponents across the net. Tooru knows that he’s technically been the crafty volleyball player on the team, the one that the opponents hate, but Matsukawa is just as calculating as he is. “You wanna tell me what’s really bothering you, Oikawa?”

Tooru swallows thickly. “Can I have some?” he responds in a soft voice, hating how small he feels, hating how _pathetic_ he feels.

“Help yourself.”

Matsukawa gazes out the window out the window as Tooru reaches into the bag, plastic scrunching in the silent room. He bites into a slice of milk bread, not even needing any other spread, and as he scarfs one down, the emptiness in his stomach amplifies. He reaches for a second slice as Matsukawa glances over in amusement. “I don’t know how you eat that stuff,” he says. “It tastes like sweet cotton balls.”

Tooru offers him some, but he shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t like it that much.”

After a beat of silence, Tooru explains, “I’m going to Argentina, Mattsun.”

“Huh? When?”

“After graduation.”

“Why?”

“Volleyball. Duh.”

“Oh.” Matsukawa shifts his body to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing Tooru. “When’d you decide that? Why there?”

So Tooru explains, hoping it’s enough of a diversion to avoid the truth as to why Tooru doesn’t want to go to practice. He’s a coward. He has the disgustingly smug personality on the court, but as it turns out, the moment he exits, he’s the same crybaby elementary school kid who got butthurt over everything.

“That’s cool, dude. You should be proud of yourself.” Matsukawa wordlessly snatches the half-empty bundle of milk bread from Tooru’s grip, shooting him a disapproving look. “Oi. Eat a real meal, dumbass.”

“So I guess that’s on my mind these days,” Tooru finally finishes. He feels a small beat of warmth at Matsukawa’s words. His friends often target him with blunt jeers to offset Tooru’s over-the-top antics, so even the smallest amount of praise is enough to boost Tooru’s mood just a little. His voice wavers, just a little.

Matsukawa pauses. “You sure that’s all?”

Tooru hugs his knees to his chest. Much like how he suspects Iwaizumi knows about his feelings for him, he guesses that Matsukawa and Hanamaki have caught on, too, at least a little. They’ve been teammates for three years now, and even without the time on the court they spend together, the four of them know each other better than anyone else in the world. Tooru gets caught staring, often, by Iwaizumi (who usually responds with a gruff, _What the fuck are you staring at?_ ), and he’s sure that Matsukawa and Hanamaki catch him, as well.

It’s the unsaid that lingers in the air, thick and heavy and sometimes too much for Tooru to bear. Nothing good would come out of bringing it up now, anyway—Iwaizumi’s already preoccupied with Nakatani, and Tooru has bigger things, like post-graduation, to worry about.

So he chickens out. “Before we know it, we won’t be playing volleyball together.”

Matsukawa studies him carefully; although Tooru doesn’t see it, he can feel it.“Don’t get me wrong, Oikawa, because that’s big stuff looming over you, but…” Tooru finally brings himself to meet Matsukawa’s eyes, who shrugs casually. “That’s not till after graduation.”

“Huh?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing more on enjoying hanging out with us instead of dreading when you can’t?” Matsukawa shoves at Tooru’s head, who’s too stunned to resist. “You should get back to your volleyball-is-everything obsessed self instead of being lame and pretending to study for a class I know you don’t even care about.”

“But—”

“Your juniors are expecting to learn from you, stupid.”

“I don’t have anything else to teach—”

“Hanamaki and I are both still showing up to practice. And you and I both know that out of all of yus, you’re the only one who’s going to be playing volleyball after high school. So _you_ have the most reason to show up to practice. So get your pathetic ass back in the gym, alright?” Matsukawa stands up. “I’m running through plays with Kindaichi and Yahaba when they’re done, so I gotta go.”

“Thanks for the bread,” Tooru says, and although it’s genuine and he means it with all his heart, it falls flat.

Matsukawa lingers at the door. Tooru’s stomach suddenly feels queasy, and he closes the bag of milk bread to set it aside. “You know, nothing’s gonna change if you don’t say what’s on your mind.” he finally says. “You of all people know that.”

Tooru doesn’t respond; he doesn’t have to; Matsukawa’s right. He hugs his knees to his chest and closes his eyes shut tight. He used to do that, too, when he and Iwaizumi were kids and the power went out in the middle of a thunderstorm. Instead of making fun of him or yelling at him or getting mad at him for ruining their game of hide and seek, Iwaizumi sat next to him quietly, shoulder gently pressed against his, until the trembling in Tooru’s spine dwindled and before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep, cheek pressed against the soft jersey fabric of Iwaizumi’s t-shirt.

So Tooru decides. Even if he can’t have Iwaizumi and he has to spend the last months of high school having to watch Iwaizumi discover love with someone other than him, the one thing he _can_ do is fully admit to Iwaizumi who he is.

Step one: tell Iwaizumi that he thinks he’s gay. Or maybe bi. Or maybe…well, he likes boys, and probably likes girls, or he likes girls, and probably likes boys. Or some combination thereof.

That shouldn’t be too hard, since Iwaizumi has already expressed a general openness to dating someone of the same sex. It’s the part that comes _after_ that Tooru is afraid of.

Step two: tell Iwaizumi how he feels about.

Tooru is notorious for not withholding attacks on the volleyball court, for being aggressive and chasing after victory like there’s no tomorrow. But when it comes to having his heart broken—and risking the friendship with his best friend—he finds that he’s the biggest coward he’s ever known, and with every fiber of his being, Tooru hates all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided to make this about ten chapters long. i really enjoy the quiet moments in fic, which i think is why i'm really drawn to slice-of-life stories and animes/manga. 
> 
> i also love the headcannon that either makki or mattsun or any combination thereof have been watching these two idiots pine for each other and challenge these two idiots to do something about it. in particular, i kind of love the gentleness mattsun demonstrates here - just loose and vague enough so as not to scare oikawa into the paralyzing fear of 'oh my god he knows, but not so vague that he's completely oblivious to it.
> 
> i dunno man. these seijoh boys are all dumbasses but i see them as kids first and volleyball players second. i have such a soft spot for them.
> 
> enough of me blabbing haha. hope you enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi has a new "first".

So the thing that’s going on with Nakatani Satoshi—whatever it is—isn’t a nightmare at all; it doesn’t build up all these quivering feelings of anger or anxiety or frustration that Hajime thought it would. He doesn’t think twice about how he responds and he doesn’t feel nervous around Nakatani, either. Maybe it’s because he’s not quite thinking of it as dating; he thinks of it as friendship; after all, isn't dating just like being friends? Are they even dating?

Hajime doesn't actually know the answer. Nakatani hasn't proposed any sort of formal relationship that's defined by an awkward conversation and verbal commitment on either end, and Hajime is relieved about that. He doesn't really know what he'd say if Nakatani asked him. All he knows is that Nakatani is a smart, funny guy, and almost too nice that Hajime doesn't know what to do about it. His friends have gotten him used to being teased and roasted mercilessly, so the idea of an actual _nice_ person is new to him. Nakatani looks beautiful with everything he does, elegant and refined.

Hajime watches him practice three-point shots during lunch break in gymnasium five. He tries to teach him, but Hajime is terrible at it and they spend the rest of the hour laughing. Hajime promises to teach him volleyball; Nakatani says he'd rather watch him play.

If he hadn't been so preoccupied with Oikawa, Hajime would probably be falling for him. But there _is_ an Oikawa, and so Hajime’s inevitable feelings aren't anything more than a crush, and he genuinely likes Nakatani as a person, so much so that the next two weeks after they start hanging out are some of the most easygoing two weeks of his high school years.

The problem is this: Hajime can't help but compare Nakatani to Oikawa. Things that remind him of the other boy, like how Nakatani likes to style his hair swept to the side and runs his fingers through them when he's thinking. Or the things that are different, like Nakatani’s straightforward intonation of words versus Oikawa’s constant teasing, jackass lilt. He feels guilty about it, because does Nakatani deserve to be treated like a secondary person? No, he doesn't.

There's this whole other problem of Oikawa completely ignoring him and the volleyball club, too, which is starting to piss him off, so it helps to have Nakatani who's disconnected from that world.

His confession about his feelings for Oikawa comes out when Nakatani tries to kiss him the first time. They’re in their classroom in the moments after dismissal; it's their turn for classroom chores. The halls are silent as Hajime sponges down the chalkboard at the front of the room and Nakatani sweeps the floor. He listens as Nakatani asks him, “Have you thought about which university you’re going to yet?”

Hajime stills a little, finding himself rubbing at the same spot a few times. “Uh, yeah. I’m looking at the same big ones everyone else is.” There's nothing special about Hajime; he’s always known that; he's just one of millions of students hoping to get a coveted spot in the majestic universities nestled in the heart of Tokyo. “It depends on my entrance exams.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Yeah, but you totally _want_ to say something.”

Nakatani laughs. His laugh is nothing like Oikawa’s; Oikawa laughs with intent and purpose. His laugh is calculated. Nakatani’s laugh is carefree and honest. “You sure? I mean, you’re one of the reasons why your volleyball club got as good as it did—don't give me that look; you know it's true—and you’re telling me you’re just settling for what everyone else does?”

Hajime swallows. He hasn’t told anyone else anything yet. He shut that thought out of his mind for a few reasons. Because keeping it locked away in his mind is safe. Doing the opposite, well: it sets himself up for sure disappointment, if he fails. He drops the sponge in the bucket and sighs. Nakatani, for all his kindness, is just as observant as Oikawa. “Well, there are some universities I've been thinking of applying to…” Nakatani raises an eyebrow. “They're in America.”

“What?! Dude, that's awesome. You should totally go for it.” Nakatani’s eyes dance with light as he tosses the broom aside and hops over to sit on sensei’s desk. His impossibly long legs sprawled out as he leans forward excitedly. “That would be so fun! Have you ever been?”

“Uh…no, I haven’t.” Hajime allows himself, just this once, to be riddled with excitement rather than anxiety at the prospect of applying to an American school. “I already took the tests that the application requires. They were really hard.”

“How’d you do on them?”

“It—better than expected.” _Much_ better, actually, and the only part that sucked about it was that he couldn't tell _anyone_. Not until he got an acceptance letter, _if_ he got an acceptance letter.

“Iwaizumi! That’s awesome!” Nakatani reaches forward to grip Hajime’s elbows and shake him a little. “Stop looking so depresse. That's amazing. You should be proud.”

“I, ah…thanks.” Hajime flushes with embarrassment. It's not often that he receives praise. Oikawa usually steals the spotlight, and Hajime lets him, so to have one person with eyes only on him grinning without thought is different.

Then it happens. Nakatani gets real quiet, the grin slides slowly off his face into a soft smile, and he pulls Hajime a little closer, and Hajime’s heart begins to beat impossibly fast as Nakatani starts to lean in and Hajime starts to lean in, too, a simple response that happened before he even thought to, then he blurts out, “I’m sorry. I feel like I can't do this.”

And Nakatani pauses, face mere centimeters from his. “Oh.”

“It's not—I want—it’s complicated.” Hajime fumbles for the right words, tries to vocalize the confusing emotions that rip through him like a hurricane. “It's not that I don't want to. It's just not fair to you if I do.”

“Huh?” Nakatani squints in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“There's, uh…someone else that I have feelings for. For a long time. And I can't—it's not fair if I just kiss you when I'm not, you know, committed. Like that.” Hajime blushes. “I'm sorry. You can storm out if you want.”

Nakatani gets quiet for a moment. Hajime avoids looking at him. His face is impossibly hot. This wasn't how any of this was supposed to go.

Then Nakatani does something even more surprising: he _laughs._

“Iwaizumi, you are too good for this world,” he cackles, moving to ruffle Hajime’s hair affectionately. “It's a kiss, not a marriage proposal.” Apparently, it's humanly possible for Hajime’s face to get even hotter, because it does. “You always take things so seriously, huh?”

“That's not a bad thing,” Hajime says defensively.

Nakatani laughs again. “Yeah, it's not. But it's cute.”

“I don't want to hurt your feelings.”

“Who is it?”

“Huh?”

“The person you like.”

Hajime bites his lip. “A friend.”

Nakatani’s eyes trace the contours of Hajime’s face. It makes him squirm. He doesn't want to be studied like that. No one studies him like that. He's reliable, consistent Iwaizumi Hajime. Not someone who's complicated enough to warrant studying. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Hajime makes a strangled noise that sounds like a mix of _Yes_ and _No_ and _I don't know_ and _Maybe._ “I…haven't really thought about it.”

“Do you want to try?” Nakatani’s long, basketball-player fingers run the length of Hajime’s forearm and come to rest on his palm. He gives his hand a quick squeeze. “You don't have to commit to anything. I'm not asking for that. I just wanna kiss you because I want to,” he says simply. “I'm not gonna die if you decide this,” Nakatani gestures between the two of them, “isn't for you.”

Hajime finds himself frowning. His parents have always been on the more conservative side; they raised him to be a gentleman; they taught him that the proper steps to growing and not to skip ahead. This came with dating, too. He also always associated any kissing with Oikawa, since _he's_ the one that steals Iwaizumi’s thoughts. So he's never thought about it.

“Iwaizumi?”

And now that he's thinking about it, he kind of wants to try it.

He exhales, more a sigh than anything. Then, shyly, quietly, “Okay.”

Nakatani pulls him a few steps forward again, hands coming to rest at the dip of Hajime’s waist. Sitting on the desk, he's a little shorter than Hajime standing in front of him. It's strange, being above eye-level than him, since Nakitani towers over him by at least four inches. Hajime’s eyelids flutter shut, and he feels Nakatani’s breath fanning on his face, smelling like sweet and sour apple candies he always hoards a stash of in his pockets.

Hajime feels feather light press of Nakatani’s lips against his, and it's so unfamiliar that Hajime hears himself taking a sharp intake of a breath. When he doesn't back away, Nakatani presses his lips firmer, and his lips start _moving_ , and it dawns on Hajime that he should do something anything. He doesn't know what to do with his lips yet so he places his hands on Nakatani’s shoulders, feeling the warm muscle there, and he clumsily tries to imitate the push and pull of Nakatani’s mouth against his.

Nakatani withdraws after a quick nip at Hajime’s bottom lip, and he smiles lazily up at him. “That wasn't too bad, was it?”

Hajime blinks. “No.”

“Did you like it?”

Did he? Hajime can't tell. It's so alien to him that he doesn't know. “Let's try it again so I can figure it out.”

Nakatani kisses him again, and Hajime responds fully this time, as full as he can, and it’s nice, the way he hoped his first kisses would be, but somewhere lingering in the back of his mind is the thought that if he and Oikawa to do this, he wouldn't know how to handle it.

* * *

The thing about the kiss is, Hajime can't stop thinking about kissing Oikawa. He and Nakatani kept kissing until Hajime made some sort of strangled sound because holy fucking shit he was late for practice and also they were making out in a classroom and also maybe there was a certain feeling pooling in his stomach and going straight to his dick that he really, really needed to dial back on.

Nakatani asked him one more time, “So did you like it?”

Hajime straightened his uniform, which Nakatani had somehow managed to twist askew. “Yeah. I did.”

Nakatani gave him one of those dazzlingly perfect smiles and said, “Cool, if you wanna try it again, then let me know. Or you can go kiss other folks around. I won't be insulted.”

Hajime responded something that sounded like a cross between _fuck off_ and _sure thing,_ and now he can't stop thinking about it.

“So you finally decided to show up?” Hajime clears his throat when he sees Oikawa warming up on the side of the gym. He picks up a water bottle and takes a swig. “Where've you been?”

Oikawa looks up through his thick, brown hair. His bangs have grown precariously long and Hajime has to resist the urge to sweep them aside. “Hey, Iwa-chan. I've been studying.”

“Liar.”

“Don't be mean! I study, too, you know.”

“Oikawa, we've been friends for ten years. I know for a fact that you don't study.”

Oikawa huffs. “Well, I've been studying and that's why I haven't been at practice.”

“Since when do you care about school?”

There it is. A sliver of an indication that something’s wrong with Oikawa. A flicker in his eyes as his mind zones out for half a second, his mouth pursed for a fleeting moment before Oikawa recovers and pulls on the fakest smile that other people might mistake as genuine. “I need to get decent grades to pass and graduate, so I guess it's about time that I listen to you and actually try to read the textbook for once.” Hajime wonders if he should press this issue. He doesn't get the chance to make a decision, because Oikawa barrels on. “Besides, with Iwa-chan all busy with his new boyfriend, I don't have anyone to spend all my time now with.”

Hajime blushes and frowns. A lone vein on his forehead throbs as his mouth twitches with a snarky response. “He's not my boyfriend.”

“Hm?” Oikawa’s wide eyes look up innocently at him. “Okay. But you hang out with him all the time.”

“We're not dating.”

“Don't be afraid of labeling it,” Oikawa says in a singsong voice. He pulls his feet together and stretches out his inner thighs as Hajime watches, trying to decide if he wants to clobber him on the head or cuss him out for teasing him about this. “Have you kissed him yet?”

“Shut up, Trashykawa.”

“But then again, Iwaizumi Hajime is quite picky with who he kisses, right? So maybe you haven't let him kiss you yet.”

“I _said_ shut _up_.”

Oikawa grins up at him, and for the first time, Hajime sees something unusual in his eyes. Oikawa is being _mean_. “If you need any advice on how to seduce him despite your non-charming personality, let me know! I have lots of experience. Maybe you can even try out _adult_ things with him. Iwa-chan the virgin no more!”

“Stop—”

“You’ll probably be terrible your first time anyway. Don't be embarrassed about it. Even though Nakatani’s probably got lots of experience, way more than you, anyway. Have you decided who's going to top—”

“I said shut the _fuck_ up, Oikawa.”

Oikawa flinches and glances back up, startled. The only sound is the squeaking of gym shoes as his underclassmen run suicide sprints. “I was just teasing, Iwa-chan.”

“No, you weren’t. You seem to forget that I've known you since we were in grade school and you still have the audacity to make it seem like I'm the crazy one for getting pissed off at your jeers?” Hajime's fists clench together and he can feel his nails digging into his palms. “What the fuck is your problem? Cut that shit before I get _really_ mad.”

“I was just teasing!”

“Whatever. Piss off.”

Hajime storms off, irritated even though he can't pinpoint why, ignoring Oikawa calling, _Iwa-chan!_ repeatedly after him. Any sense of bubbling affection Hajime has been thinking about since kissing Nakatani has quickly been overtaken by irritation. If that's the way Oikawa wants to be, then fine—it wouldn’t be the first time that's happened in Oikawa and Hajime’s long and tumultuous friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i smell some JEALOUSY that we will get to explore next chapter (¬‿¬) i love to see it hehe
> 
> the one (1) oc i have is truly too good for this world. i wanted to do a wholesome spin on the "kissing the wrong person" trope, especially for someone like iwaizumi who, i would imagine, takes romance and dating very, very seriously (in contrast to oikawa who is a chaotic force of spontaneous kisses and short-lived relationships). 
> 
> in other news, this is officially the first part of a three part iwaoi series that i am calling, "tried & true." i am SO excited to finish up is fic and move onto the next couple ones, which will be full of more Adult Things and more complex, ~ hurt ~ emotions. 
> 
> lately i've descended into sakuatsu hell as well lmfao.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa has a confession

Tooru can’t help being an asshole. He’s kind of a certified asshole at this point, the kind of person that his teammates have long since become wary of. But this is different. The way Iwaizumi refuses to acknowledge his presence isn’t because he’s annoyed or frustrated or embarrassed by Tooru’s antics.

He actually seems _mad_.

And usually, Tooru knows, Iwaizumi’s anger is simply aggressive care. Like when Tooru is overworking himself or thinking too much about too many things or getting down on the fact that he is incapable of beating Ushiwaka.

This time, Iwaizumi is mad because Tooru knows, very clearly, that he crossed a line.

But Tooru really, truly can’t help it. The moment he saw Iwaizumi he knew that something had happened, and if he’s still as good at reading people as he thinks he is, then he knows it’s because Iwaizumi is flustered. There’s only one person, at this point, who could cause such an emotion.

Nakatani. Fucking. Satoshi.

Tooru remains deep in thought as he gazes at his juniors practicing a synchronized attack. He thinks, maybe, just maybe, deep down—far deeper than he’s ever had the courage to go—that he’s deliberately pissing off Iwaizumi not out of entertainment value but out of spite. Tooru knows he’s never done that. He is reckless out of spite when it comes to his rivals, sure, like Ushijima or stupid genius Kageyama. But he doesn’t act out of spite to his _best friend_.

It’s not fair to Iwaizumi. It’s not, and he knows it’s not, so why is it that he can’t help but feel slightly vindicated that he’s able to make Iwaizumi feel as strongly towards him in the same way he feels strongly about Iwaizumi?

“Oi. Shittykawa.”

Tooru flinches, fully expecting a volleyball to come flying towards his body from precisely seventeen different directions. Iwaizumi’s tone is as blunt and gruff as ever, but Tooru can tell that the stinging heat of it—the razor-sharp edges that aren’t afraid to slice through the vast array of Tooru’s bullshit—has cooled off.

“Y—yes?”

Iwaizumi could cause concrete to crumble under his gaze. A shiver snakes its way down Tooru’s spine; it’s the same gaze Iwaizumi gave him when he was pissed that Tooru fucked up the toss deliberately during their match against Date Tech. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. One, then two. Then maybe fifty. Tooru holds his breath, expecting a verbal beating of sorts related to how much of a jerk he is.

Iwaizumi, however, simply snarls, “We’re walking home together after practice.” He shoves a volleyball in Tooru’s hands and stomps toward the court. This is a common statement Iwaizumi says whenever Tooru pisses him off, for _real_ , and it’s always Iwaizumi to extend the olive branch first. He doesn’t say, _I forgive you_ or _It’s okay_ or _I’m sorry_. Iwaizumi always says, _We’re walking home together_.

A biting remark is perched on the tip of Tooru’s tongue: _what, you’re not going with your boyfriend today?_ But in a rare feat of herculean self-control, Tooru says, “Okay,” although by this point, Iwaizumi is long gone.

* * *

They do walk home together. The club room is quickly vacated after the juniors, hungry from a long afternoon of practice, scramble to make it home in time for dinner. Tooru hangs back, checking for any forgotten item, stealing a glance of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. When he leaves, Iwaizumi’s waiting outside of the clubroom, gazing across the campus with his elbows leaning against the railing. His breath fogs in front of him and it’s like things are in slow motion; Tooru pauses to take a breath and admire Iwaizumi’s silhouette from behind.

“You’ve been a dick lately,” Iwaizumi says without turning around.

Tooru latches the lock into place and takes his spot behind Iwaizumi. “Is that supposed to be an insult or an observation?” he asks.

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond. The thing is, even though he told Tooru that he’d be the one chasing volleyball forever—the implication being that Tooru would leave him behind—Iwaizumi doesn’t know the truth: that _Iwaizumi’s_ back is always a view that Tooru sees. After a perfect set, it’s the ace who gets the perfect shot, and it’s the setter who gets to watch it.

There are times on the court where Tooru almost feels like he and Iwaizumi inhabit one mind and maybe even one body. When his pass ends up so seamless that it’s almost like he can feel the weight of the ball against his palm as Iwaizumi slams it down. When he can see Iwaizumi jump up in front of him and he can tell what spots he needs to cover from the back row. Tooru knows he’ll never be as good of a setter as a genius like Kageyama, but he does have full confidence that he’s the best setter for Iwaizumi.

But now it feels like their in-sync, perfect trust has begun to slip through Tooru’s fingertips, and he has no idea what that means for him.

“Let’s go home, Iwa-chan. You might be tough as bricks, but it’s too cold for me.” Tooru hums to himself to fill the empty silence, Iwaizumi’s footsteps following close behind him.

So many words unsaid between them. So many words unsaid that sink themselves deep into the precious corners of Tooru’s heart that he doesn’t have the courage to release, for more than a few reasons. Perhaps one day he’ll tell Iwaizumi everything, when they’re old and gray and he’s got nothing left to lose.

“It’s both.” Iwaizumi breaks the silent with two gruff words.

“Huh?”

“Insult. And an observation.” A rough hand grips the back of Tooru’s neck and he squeals. Iwaizumi gives it a quick, firm squeeze, and if Tooru weren’t used to that sensation by now it probably would’ve hurt. Tooru sneaks a glance over at him, wondering what on earth is going on in his brain right now, but Iwaizumi is as unreadable as ever, eyes still gazing ahead, unwavering, uncompromising. “You’ve been a dick.”

“You always call me names, so that’s nothing new.”

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You haven’t been the same since we lost to Karasuno.”

So _that’s_ what Iwaizumi is thinking about. Because, well, of course—Iwaizumi correctly assumes that everything in Tooru’s brain amasses to volleyball and volleyball only. Which, honestly, is a fair assumption, and just goes to show how well Tooru has hidden everything from him. “I’m always a dick.”

“It’s different.” He stops in his tracks and turns. For the first time that day, Iwaizumi looks Tooru dead in the eyes. “What’s got you acting even worse than you usually do?”

Tooru hesitates, only slightly, but it’s enough for Iwaizumi to notice. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I—”

“Stop _lying_ to me, or I’m definitely going to stop talking to you.”

The idea of Iwaizumi not talking to Tooru has _already_ happened. And to top it off, Tooru overheard Hanamaki and Matsukawa at practice poking fun of Iwaizumi about finally kissing someone, which means Iwaizumi has 1. kissed Nakatani, and 2. hasn’t told Tooru. He doesn’t know what part pisses him off more. “It’s not like you’ve even been talking to me lately.”

“You’re the one that’s been skimping out on practice _and_ ignoring my texts.”

“You don’t even like it when I text you! And you always tell me I should be taking it easier!”

“That doesn’t mean acting like you’ve already moved on from Seijoh.” Iwaizumi’s voice wavers, just for a moment. “God, Trashykawa, just because you’re planning on being some hotshot pro—”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“—gives you no right to act like some of us aren’t even _there_.”

It hits Tooru, this new realization. Iwaizumi isn’t just mad. He’s _hurt_.

“Iwa-chan, I wasn’t…no. No, no, no. You’ve got it wrong.” Tooru shakes his head, so hard that he swears his brain jiggles in the brain fluid swishing back and forth in his skull. “No, Iwa-chan, that’s not what I was doing at all.”

“Then _what is it?_ ”

Tooru doesn’t know what possesses him to answer truthfully, or at least semi truthfully, because the next words spilling out of his mouth are, “I’m gay.”

It is equal parts a declaration, a question, and an answer.

Iwaizumi stills. “Oh.”

Tooru bites his lips and looks at his dirty-streaked sneakers.

“That’s it?”

Well, _that’s_ definitely not the reaction Tooru was expecting. “What do you mean that’s it?”

“I mean…that’s great?” Iwaizumi glances away and laughs nervously. “Sorry. I mean. I’m not sorry. It’s just—I thought it was something bad.”

“You don’t think it’s bad?”

“Dumbass, I _literally_ told you that I got asked out by a _guy_.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“I’ve been going on pseudo-dates with him. Even though I stand by the fact that they're not dates. They're still pseudo- _dates_."

"But—"

"I literally had his _tongue_ in my _mouth_.”

“That could mean anything!” Tooru tries to ignore the sting in his heart when Iwaizumi confirms his suspicions—that the two have kissed already, which, like, duh, they’ve been ‘seeing’ each other for the past three weeks, and for the average teenage horny boys, three weeks is a long time to wait for a first kiss. “Besides, maybe you…you realized you hated it.”

“You’re being stupid.” Iwaizumi resumes walking again, and Tooru timidly follows one step behind. “If being gay bothered me that much, you’d probably already know. I mean, that’s why you just admitted it to me now, right? Because you know it doesn’t bother me.”

 _No, it’s because that’s only half the truth about why I’ve been a dick_. “You’re right.”

“When’d you realize that?”

Tooru gazes at Iwaizumi’s silhouette again, from the spiky black hair to the delicate curve of his neck. His broad shoulders, narrow hips, beautiful legs, all illuminated by the bright, warm light of a full moon. In the beginning, Iwaizumi grew faster than Tooru; his voice started cracking earlier and his feet outgrew shoes twice as fast as Tooru’s did, and as much as Tooru knows Iwaizumi thinks otherwise, Tooru has a sense that he’s always the one getting left behind. “I guess I’ve always known.”

“You should stop messing around with girls, then.”

“No! I love girls. They are beautiful. They’re great. I love them.” Tooru adapts the safe, self-absorbed tone he knows will annoy Iwaizumi and thereby shoving things back to normal. No more of this honest conversation, where Tooru wears his heart on his sleeve; it’s too dangerous; he’s too vulnerable. And he’s too much of a coward. “I love both boys and girls. Girls a little more, because they’re nicer to me and they give me more love. Boys are usually mean.” Tooru pokes at Iwaizumi’s arm with one finger, allowing himself to indulge in this one touch. “Like you, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re a shitty asshole. That’s why guys are mean to you.”

Tooru starts humming, feeling relieved that the first brunt of his honesty has been unleashed, choosing to deliberately ignore the second part. There’s that whole _Iwaizumi kissed Nakatani_ fact that threatens to spoil Tooru’s good mood, but he forces himself to focus on the first accomplishment of admitting to Iwaizumi that there is very much nothing straight about Tooru.

“Hey. _Hey_. Dumbass, you’re spacing out again. Slow down.”

“Hmm, having trouble keeping up? Sorry, my long legs just make my pace so much faster than yours.”

“Shut up.”

“I think if you train really hard, your normal walking pace will match mine in three years!”

“ _Hey_.”

The same hand that gripped Tooru’s neck ghosts against the delicate skin of his wrist. Iwaizumi and Tooru have always been the physical type—after all, they’re athletes—but their physical contact is limited. It’s either Tooru poking at Iwaizumi or Iwaizumi grabbing Tooru into a headlock or clobbering him or grabbing him to jerk him back into line, never this.

Iwaizumi’s fingers are warm, not grabby, and his thumb paints one stroke down the inside of Tooru’s wrist before coming to rest at the base of his palm. “Oikawa, wait.”

Tooru thinks his heart stops, except it hasn’t, because all he can hear is the _whoosh_ of his heart pounding in his ears, consuming every last shred of sensibility that Tooru miraculously still possesses.

_This isn’t a romantic touch. Don’t let this fuel anything. This isn’t romantic. This isn’t romantic._

“I just wanna say…it’s okay. That you like guys. Thank you for telling me.”

Tooru swallows. He has to take a couple of focused breaths in order to make sure his voice doesn’t shake when he speaks next. “Well, of course, Iwa-chan. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything.”

“Good. Dumbasskawa.” When Iwaizumi releases him from his grip, Tooru quietly grabs that same spot of his skin, lingering warmth that causes Tooru’s chest to twist and his brain to draw a blank. He doesn’t even have a cheeky response to that.

“Thanks,” he finally says, quietly, when in reality, he thinks to himself, _Well, almost everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who are some of your favorite ships in haikyuu besides iwaoi? just curious.
> 
> in other news. i wanted to write this scene because i struggled to come out as bisexual to even my queer friends. even some of my other bisexual friends. if you're in the same boat as i was, please know that you are still valid, your anxiety is still valid, and it's okay, you'll figure it out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s like this: hajime is the metal, and oikawa is the electricity.

The idea of Oikawa being into guys doesn’t bother Hajime. Not at all.

What _does_ bother him is—well, what bothers him is the fact that Hajime is _happy_ about it. A troubling fact, indeed, because it opens the door to his recent desire to kiss Oikawa only to promptly shut it in his face. Hajime rationalizes that he shouldn’t be happy about Oikawa liking boys. It’s much easier to have feelings for a friend who doesn’t return feelings back to you because they’re straight rather than a gay friend who doesn’t return those feelings back to you just because they simply _don’t_.

Still, as Hajime and Oikawa walk side-by-side in the quiet residential neighborhoods, Hajime indulges himself in the nostalgia just how much their relationship has transformed over the year. They are no longer the bratty kids who trekked mud into the house and got scolded for coming home hours after they said they’d be home. They walk past the park they used to stampede in search for fireflies, past the field they used to practice tossing and receiving, past the bus stop they waited at to catch a ride to watch their first professional volleyball tournament.

Even this, this coming-of-age, gay awakening that they’re experiencing, they’re in it together. They’ve done everything together. It hurts Hajime to think that maybe, since they’ve done everything, there is simply nothing left to develop.

“You’re getting all weird and moody again.” Oikawa’s voice breaks through Hajime’s thoughts, like light spilling through rain clouds—a little overbearing, and unavoidable.

“Just thinking.”

“You think?”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa’s footsteps slow down as he waits for Hajime to fall into step beside him. There’s a heavy silence that hangs there, the same heavy silence that enveloped them after they lost to Karasuno, after messing around for hours with their friends in an empty gym. After reality slapping him in the face as Oikawa thanked them for the past three years, as Hajime began to consider what lay beyond the one more point he’s been used to chasing all this time. Snot dried in his nostrils and eyes swollen from crying, Hajime had given the closest thing to a confession he could have possibly offered to Oikawa, and then some. And despite that, Hajime _still_ hadn’t given him the whole truth.

“Say…” Oikawa pokes at Hajime’s elbow. “So what’s this about having his tongue in your mouth?”

Hajime blinks. “What?”

“You said you had his tongue in your mouth.” Hajime flinches. He regrets mentioning that. It was a mistake, a statement that streamed from the passionate rebuttals he’d screamed at Oikawa’s dumbass. “You didn’t tell me!”

Hajime swears his skin flushes from the bottom of his neck up to his scalp. “Why do I have to tell you stuff like that? Pervert.”

“I’m not a pervert! I’m your best friend. Best friends tell each other everything—”

“Some things aren’t meant to be shared.”

“—like how I graciously told you about getting to third base with Haruka-chan in the equipment shed—”

“I never wanted to hear that.”

“Or how I told you I was _gay_.”

“Oh my _God_ , fuck off, moron.” Hajime pulls Oikawa into a headlock and grabs his chin with his fingers. Oikawa shrieks and tries fruitlessly to bat Hajime’s hands away. “You’re not gay. You literally just told me you’re not.”

“But still! You never told me. That’s rude.”

“Chill. It _just_ happened today. Not that that’s your business.”

“But we’re best friends. Your business _is_ my business! And my business is your business, too.”

“Your business is _absolutely_ _not_ my business.”

“So you mean you’re not going to tell me about your first kiss? I told you about mine, like, right after it happened!”

“Yeah, well, at the time it seemed like a big deal.” Hajime releases Oikawa and shoves him just enough to send him stumbling as he giggles. “We were in middle school, so that kind of gossip seemed like hot news.”

Oikawa’s wide, brown eyes meet his, and Hajime has to force himself to look away. The pebbles on the ground. The fences running alongside the pathway.

Anywhere but _him_.

“Was he a good kisser? I bet he was. He looks like he’s a good kisser.”

“Stupid. I don’t have anyone to compare him to.”

“I can just _tell_ these things you know. One might say I’m an even better love detective than volleyball player.”

“ _Oh my god do you ever shut up._ ”

Oikawa bursts out in laughter, and Hajime almost forgets Okawa’s jeers from earlier that day. He grinds his knuckles gently at Oikawa’s temple, ignoring the tingly sensation that travels across the length of his body.

It’s like this: Hajime is the metal, and Oikawa is the electricity. Even the slightest brush, even the shortest contact, makes his skin buzz and his heart murmur, and Hajime comes alive.

Oikawa’s laughter dies out. He hesitates, just a moment. “Did you like it?”

Hajime stills. Nakatani had asked him that, too, and Hajime hadn’t answered no, but he didn’t answer yes, either. It felt nice, and even though Hajime didn’t have anything to compare him to, he could guess that Nakatani is, indeed a good kisser. None of those disastrous errors that Oikawa and Yahaba are always talking about, like uncontrollable tongues or unpleasant teeth-clacking. It was…nice.

“It was nice.”

Yeah, kissing Nakatani was nice, and Hajime liked it, but Hajime can’t tell if he didn’t like it—like, _really_ like it—because he just didn’t care for kisses, or if it was because he knows, deep down, he could never see Nakatani that way.

“Have you?” The words tumble out of Hajime’s mouth before he even realizes what he’s asking.

“Huh?” Oikawa’s eyes widen with curiosity. “Have I what?”

“Have you kissed a guy before?”

Oikawa pauses. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Okay, fine. I mean, I kissed you. Remember? And you headbutted me so I had a bruise for, like, three weeks afterwards.” Oikawa laughs, and if Hajime hadn’t been friends with him for so long, he would’ve never known that Oikawa’s laugh just now is fake as hell. “And I count that as a kiss, too.”

(Hajime counts that kiss, too.)

(He thought he was the only one.)

They’re close now, close to Oikawa’s house, not far from where the infamous stolen kiss took place. Hajime hadn’t expected Oikawa to remember that memory—it was so long ago.

“If you like guys, too, then why haven’t you dated any of them?” Hajime asks, careful, cautious. He knows Oikawa has just ripped his heart from his chest and adorned it on his sleeve by that small moment of vulnerability, and he knows that if he’s not careful, Oikawa will take his heart back, stuff it back in, and seal himself shut. “I mean, I thought you only liked girls because you’ve only ever acted interested in girls.”

Oikawa shrugs. “Probably because I’m too busy playing volleyball?”

“Ah.”

“I’m married to volleyball. So sue me.”

“Do you _want_ to be with guys, Oikawa? I mean, just because you’re attracted to them or you’ve had crushes on them, doesn’t mean you want to be with them. Based on your track record, I…I guess I’m just surprised. Not in a bad way. Just…surprised.”

Oikawa slows down—they’re just a couple of buildings away from Oikawa’s house, where Hajime will leave him to head home—and he thinks about it.

“Being gay isn’t easy,” Oikawa finally says. “I guess I subconsciously didn’t want to deal with the consequences of having feelings for a guy.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

Hajime thinks about that. He thinks about Oikawa refuses to back down from a fight on the court, and how he’s constantly searching for ways to get under people’s skin for the sake of amusement. The Oikawa Tooru he grew up alongside grew out of childish fear, but he supposed that _this_ kind of fear—fear of the unknown, fear of the other—is something that Oikawa has never truly grown out of.

“And here I thought nothing scared you anymore.”

Oikawa laughs softly, more an exhale than anything. “I guess you were wrong, Iwa-chan, because I’m a coward.”

Hajime bumps him with his shoulder. He thinks he feels, just for a second, Oikawa’s shoulder pressing back into him. But it’s gone as soon as he senses it, so maybe it’s a figment of his imagination, a product of his desire. “Idiot. Cowards don’t fly across the world.”

“Yeah, but cowards can at least stop being afraid of how people think of them.” Oikawa lifts his chin to the sky, breath fogging around him. The sky is clear tonight, and if Hajime squints, he can see stars like little fireflies glittering across the expanse. The moon illuminates the smooth skin of Oikawa’s face, and it’s the first time Hajime’s ever distinctly thought, _Oikawa is beautiful_.

Oikawa gets the remark _pretty boy_ a lot, and girls call him _hot_ and _handsome_ , and most people (who don’t know the real Oikawa Tooru) call him _charming_. But this is the first time that Hajime has ever heard the sentence—even if it’s just in his head— _Oikawa is beautiful_ , and it is a sentence that he knows is universally, fundamentally, and philosophically true.

Oikawa is beautiful.

“So you don’t think you could ever see yourself with a guy?” Hajime asks. His mouth has suddenly run dry and his voice almost cracks in the middle of it. He clears his throat. “Even, you know, in the future.”

In the distance, Hajime hears the clattering of wind chimes that sing against the winter breeze. The whole world seems to hold its breath as Oikawa contemplates Hajime’s question as he gazes at stars. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I know I like ‘em but I’m a coward. You—you’re not, Iwa-chan. But I am.” Hajime looks away, throat tightening with—what is this? Hurt? Disappointment? Frustration? He truly cannot tell. “But I’d love to kiss one. At least once! Just—you know. Just because. To say I did and to have no regrets about never getting to kiss one.”

Hajime feels that way, too, except a vague _‘one’,_ in his mind, takes the shape of the boy standing in front of him. The thought makes his fists curl up. He hates, hates, _hates_ how helpless he feels, how unable he is to articulate what he feels and why he feels and how he feels. He thinks about Oikawa’s dating advice, those few weeks ago when Nakatani first asked him out: _Sometimes you figure out what you want by going for it and worrying about the consequences later_.

How fitting that Oikawa, self-proclaimed coward, would tell him that.

_Consequences. Later._

Against better judgement, and still reeling in the aftermath of conversations too vulnerable for the good of either of them, Hajime stands on his toes and moves without thinking, grabbing Oikawa by his jacket, pulling him to him, and planting a kiss square on Oikawa’s mouth.

Before his eyes close, a snapshot: Oikawa’s surprised face, close, close, closer than it’s ever been before, then all Hajime can see is darkness and all he can feel is Oikawa’s stupidly soft lips pressed against his.

It’s a solid kiss, not passionate, not _anything_ , really, just their mouths pressed together. He’s still new to it so he doesn’t move with the confidence that Nakatani did, and Oikawa’s so shocked that he doesn’t take the lead and Hajime has no one to follow.

And yet, his heart pounds, threatening to burst from the seams of every ounce of self-control he’s had to cling onto for the past few years. Is _this_ what he’s supposed to feel when he kisses someone? Never mind the actual kiss itself, but his whole _body_ responds, like he’s a guitar string, pulled tight and trying to keep itself together as it oscillates between selfish desire and selfless cowardice. The tension between those two ignite warmth inside of Hajime that rebel against the cold winter air, and he thinks, for a second, that if he could just stay like this, so close to what his heart wants but not close enough that he knows it can’t possibly be true, he’d be content.

_Electric._

Hajime’s senses sink deep into his heels as he rips himself away, releasing Oikawa from his grasp. Oikawa’s eyes are wide, face blank, and cheeks pink, and Hajime swivels on his heels against the frozen ground. He can feel Oikawa’s gaze on his back, dumbfounded, and even if Hajime may have completely fucked up and put things on the line that shouldn’t have been there in the first place, at least he’ll be able to, later on, enjoy the fact that he surprised Oikawa so much that he had no words.

“There. Now you can keep going with no regrets,” Hajime says over his shoulder. “I’m going home. Good night.” He fast-walks faster than he’s ever walked before, refusing to turn around. He can’t bring himself to look at Oikawa, to see the potential disgust or shock or embarrassment that might be written there, and so, in true coward’s fashion, he walks away.

Oikawa does not follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f i n a l l y.
> 
> two more chapters, y'all. this is wrapping up nicer than i expected lol. 
> 
> anyway, thank you guys for reading. i love seeing your comments & they brighten my day.
> 
> my next work in this series will be a continuation of iwaizumi & oikawa's relationship, although it will be a little bit unsual compared to my usual narratives. it will be one long chapter that consists of vignettes depicting iwaizumi/oikawa in the HQ timeskip years. i think it's gonna be sad lol. sorry about that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa decides that it's only fair if he gets to steal a kiss back from iwaizumi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i'm back from a month hiatus to provide you with this update.
> 
> i've been finishing up my original fiction MS and dicking around with other fan fics that i hope to post before the end of the year. so if you include all the writing i've done, including fan fic, for nanowrimo thus far, i get to around 23k and it's only november 6 lol.
> 
> ANYWAY. second to last chapter. i needed something to cleanse me from the US elections. enjoy!

There are moments where Tooru _knows_ he knows the truth, but he can’t help but feel like a bit of a conspiracy nut job if he were to say it out loud. Like when he was six years old and saw a ghost boy in the abandoned gas station near his house, walking up to the window to peer in before disappearing _through_ the wall. Or when he was twelve, and saw a glittering saucer-shaped light hovering in the sky, as if signaling in morse code _I’m here!_

Or now, at the tender age of eighteen, when Oikawa kisses the one and only Iwaizumi Hajime.

His first thought is: _what the fuck?_

His second thought is: _oh my god, I kissed Iwaizumi_.

And finally, his third thought: _oh my god, Iwaizumi kissed me_.

Against his better judgement, he stares until Iwaizumi walks away, slumped over in that terrible posture of his, and Tooru forgets where he is or where he’s going, and quite frankly, he’s forgotten what his name is or who Iwaizumi’s supposed to be to him. Tooru turns in a slow, cautious swivel on his heels. The moment, which had fluttered in a delightfully surprising manner, like a butterflying landing on his finger.

Only to leave as soon as it arrived, dissipating in the breaths that crystallized momentarily before no longer being visible.

_What._

_The._

_Fuck._

_Iwa-chan kissed me. Iwa-chan kissed me without me even asking him to._

This, of course, should be a cause for great celebration, or great despair, or maybe a bit of both. It could be either, because Tooru isn’t sure, exactly, _why_ Iwaizumi had done it. Maybe he just pitied the repressed homosexuality that Tooru has been grappling with, or maybe because Tooru had not-so-subtly implied he’d be willing to kiss _any_ guy if they let him, just once.

But the one thought that grabs Tooru’s mind is not the despair nor the celebration.

“I didn’t even kiss him _back_!” Tooru groans, slapping his palm into his forehead. He’d been waiting so, so long for it to happen, since they were babies, practically, and yet the moment it actually _happened_ , Tooru didn’t do anything. “Oh god. I hate myself. I should’ve at _least_ kissed him back!”

His first kiss with a boy. His first kiss with Iwaizumi.

Maybe it was a first kiss that was supposed to be the last, but Tooru knew that, despite the impending paint his may cause, he wanted his kiss with Iwaizumi—if it _were_ to be his last—to be better.

And thus, as Tooru kicks at the ground, muttering obscenities to himself, he ignores the ache in his chest that grows with every moment he continues to think about it. He doesn’t want to give himself hope that this means something new will come, but he _does_ decide that if Iwaizumi is gonna be his kiss-and-ditch, he might as well convince Iwaizumi that they have to try it again.

After all, one more kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?

* * *

But before he embarks on the mission to convince Iwaizumi to plant another sucker on him, Tooru decides to be semi-responsible and consult with someone first.

“Mattsun.” Tooru flops back on his bed. He holds the phone on speaker-mode on his chest. “I need to ask you on your thoughts for something.”

Matsukawa’s voice comes tinny through the speakers. “Uh-oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?”

“It means that you’re out of ideas,” Matsukawa comments. Tooru can hear the dull sound of chopping in the background—Matsukawa, helping his mother prepare dinner, because apparently, he’s a god at chopping vegetables. “Or that you’re desperate. It’s never good when you ask me for advice.”

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or yourself.”

“Hm…” Matsukawa’s voice is muffled as he addresses someone else before returning closer to the speaker again. “What’s up?”

“What would you do if…if Makki said something…or did something and…you think maybe it was a joke, but you also—”

“Oi. I’m trying to slice up cabbage for my salad and when you ramble like that, I just know you’ll either lose me or I’ll lose a finger.” Matsukawa snorts. “Be direct and drop the lame _what-if_ thing.”

Tooru flips over onto his stomach and tucks a pillow under his chest. His fingers pick at the hem as he sighs. “So…you know about Iwa-chan and Namatani-kun.”

“Nakatani.”

“Yeah, him.”

“Of course, I know about him.”

“Well,” Tooru barrels on, knowing he’ll be too chicken to say anything if he thinks about it. “So a funny thing happened. Iwa-chan…mayhavesortofkissedmeearliertoday?”

The rhythmic chopping stops, and Tooru doesn’t even hear breathing on the phone.

“Mattsun?” he says. “Are you alive?”

“Wait a second.” Matsukawa’s voice sounds clearer now, and Tooru can hear the thumping of his aggressive footsteps. “Whoa. Okay. We’re doing this. This is happening. Hi.”

“What about your cabbage?”

“The cabbage can fucking wait, you dumbass.” A door slams. “Okay. I’m in my room. Okay. Wow. Okay. _Wow_.”

Tooru’s cheeks warm, and for the first time, he allows himself to feel the smallest bit giddy about the whole situation. “Do you have something besides ‘wow’ and ‘okay’ to say?”

“You mean, like, ‘about time’? I can say that, too. It’s about time, Oikawa.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means that with Iwaizumi getting his cinema-worthy gay awakening, I figured it’d make you have yours, too. And you two idiots will finally stop running hopeless circles around each other.” Matsukawa laughs. “How’d that even happen, by the way? Did he just smash his face against yours to kiss you?”

Tooru plucks at a spare feather that comes loose from his pillow, heart fluttering as he recalls the memory fresh in his mind, like the first footprint in a bed of snow. “We were just talking. And I said I wanted to kiss a boy just to say that I did. And Iwa-chan kissed me.”

Tooru neglects to provide details about the disgustingly vulnerable conversation they shared before. Some things are better left private, he decides, and he selfishly wants those conversations to exist solely between him and Iwaizumi.

“So you just said, ‘I want anyone to kiss me,’ and Iwaizumi did.”

“That sums it up, yeah.”

“Did he say anything after?”

“Not really.”

“Like why he did it?”

“He said he’d do it so I wouldn’t have regrets.” Tooru’s mood sinks microscopically at this. “Oh. Do you think he meant that means he did it to be nice to me?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him that?”

“Because I don’t want it to be weird!”

“You just kissed your best friend of over a decade. Of course it’s going to be weird.”

“But that’s why I’m calling _you_.” Tooru plants his face into the pillow and lets out a scream. It is only slightly muffled by the bedding. “ _Augh_. I don’t know what to do.”

Matsukawa pauses. He doesn’t say anything, although Tooru can hear his measured breaths. “Right now, the question is simple. Do you _want_ to kiss him again?”

Tooru feels his face grow hot. “And if I do?”

“Then just do it again. He stole a kiss from you, anyway. You should make it even.”

Oikawa is about to open his mouth and say, _That sounds like a great plan_ , or maybe, _That sounds like a terrible plan_ , but before he can decide what words to say or how he’s going to say it or what he’ll follow up with, Matsukawa continues in a smug tone, “How did he kiss, by the way? I bet he was aggressive.”

Oikawa yells into the phone, “Pig!” before hanging up.

* * *

When Tooru walks into morning practice the next day, Iwaizumi isn’t there.

“He texted me saying he had a stomachache this morning,” Hanamaki explains. “I think he said he’d try to make it this afternoon.”

When he peeks his head into Iwaizumi’s classroom, Iwaizumi is nowhere to be found.

(And neither is Nakatani).

When he texts Iwaizumi asking if he’s feeling okay, he receives no resoponse.

And, finally, when Tooru strolls into afternoon practice, Iwaizumi is not there.

“Iwaizumi-senpai told me he can’t make it,” Kindaichi says. “I’m not sure where he is, though.”

Tooru knows exactly where he is. Iwaizumi is located somewhere that is decidedly _not around Oikawa_. That should make him offended, but Tooru feels a flare of irritation and anger at that. Typically, it’s Iwaizumi who will get annoyed and ignore Tooru for a longsuffering amount of times (typically no more than a day), or it’s Iwaizumi who gets angry. In a rare turn of events, Tooru seethes, unable to practice on anything that requires ecen a fraction of mental capacity, and so he practices serves until his vision is as red as his right palm.

It’s rude. The whole kissing-your-best-friend then not even showing up to practice all day _and_ outright avoiding him? Not cool.

Tooru doesn’t even text Iwaizumi before striding from volleyball practice to the Iwaizumi family residence. He sees, from the road, that Iwaizumi’s light is on, which means that he’s home, and as Tooru raises one hand to knock against the door, he hesitates, just a moment.

The insecure, jealous part of him fears walking into a situation that he’ll regret having saw. Imagines of Nakatani and Iwaizumi kissing haunt his mind. Iwaizumi and Nakatani kissing, and hugging, and being like a couple, and doing… _couple_ things. The thought of Iwaizumi doing anything with anyone that isn’t him rotates like a white-hot knife piercing delicate skin.

Tooru takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. “Iwa-chan! It’s me! Open your door!”

There isn’t a response at first, which is typical—Iwaizumi’s parents both work late and he’s often home alone on weekday nights—but with a little bit more time, the door clicks as it is unlocked, and the door drifts open.

“Why are you here?” Iwaizumi scowls. His typically spiky dark hair is wet as he’s clearly come out of the shower, cheeks full of color. His skin practically radiates steam from the heat of the water, and Tooru has to try really, really hard not to check out Iwaizumi's arm muscles.

“Where were you today?” Oikawa demands. He shivers as a cold winter win digs its fingers past his body.

Iwaizumi, of course notices. He always does. “Here, come in. It’s cold.”

Although Tooru stands taller than his best friend, he feels small every time he’s around Iwaizumi. Perhaps it’s because Iwaizumi is an independent person, raised to prioritize his wants and needs. Tooru doesn’t quite have that thread of self-assuredness that allows him to stand tall in any circumstance—including kissing your best friend.

“Where were you?” Tooru repeats.

Iwaizumi leads the way back to his bedroom. He holds the door for Tooru before closing it shut behind them, and Tooru sits on the edge of Iwaizumi’s bed. It’s nothing new. Nothing unusual. Yet it feels so…intimate. Especially knowing now that Iwaizumi’s lips are slightly chapped and he kisses with a lot of jaw.

“I’ve been busy with applications,” Iwaizumi says. He rubs at his eyes. “For university.”

“Ah.” Just like that, Tooru’s anger melts, making him realize that it probably wasn’t even anger in the first place. Iwaizumi sits on the bed beside him before groaning as he fell backward. He stares up at the ceiling, and Tooru stares at him.

When did looking at Iwaizumi become such a source of enjoyment?

When did _just looking_ suddenly become not enough?

They’re silent as Tooru tries to bring himself to say words that will challenge Iwaizumi to his next move. _Kiss me again_ , he wants to say, but that doesn’t sound quite right. _I want to kiss to again_ sounds too straightforward, and _I want to have a better kiss than that_ sounds too condescending.

As Tooru’s trying to peel off his suddenly immovable tongue from the bottom of his mouth, Iwaizumi finally speaks. “I’m applying to international schools.”

Tooru pauses. When he doesn’t say anything, Iwaizumi sneaks a peek at his friend before eyebrows pinching in confusion. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“I thought you were planning on going to school in Tokyo or Osaaka,” Tooru says.

“Yeah, assuming I even got in.”

“So you’re just giving up on those schools?”

“No.” Iwaizumi shakes his head. He begins to tap his fingers along the edges of his ribcage, and Tooru wants nothing more than to run his fingers along those ridges. “I’m just widening my options.”

“Where to?”

“There’s a program in California I’m looking at.” Iwaizumi’s voice grows bashful all of a sudden as he rambles on. “I don’t know if I’ll get in, but—”

“California,” Tooru repeats, breathless.

“Yeah, I’ve never—”

“That’s closer to Argentina than Japan is!”

Tooru blurts the words out and immediately wishes he could take them back. His shoulders tense and a flush creeps across his neck as he freezes, realizing that Iwaizumi should not care about how close California is Argentina. Iwaizumi made the choice on his own, so it’s not like he ever considered his friendship with Tooru, anyway, when making life decisions. And Tooru being a big baby and wanting to drag Iwaizumi along wherever he went is nothing new.

It’s different, though, because usually Iwaizumi would go ahead and Tooru would follow (though sometimes he’d be complaining the whole time and cajole him to turn directions). This time, it’s been the other way around

“Is that all you care about?” Iwaizumi props himself up on his elbows and raises an eyebrow at his friend. “About how much closer I’ll be to you in California than in Japan?”

“No. That’s exciting, Iwa-chan. It is.” Suddenly, Tooru’s big news about wanting a second kiss doesn’t seem as monumental. He tries to make his voice sound encouraging, but it falls flat.

Iwaizumi stares at him and Tooru is grateful that he can easily avoid crumbling under his gaze by keeping his back turned towards him. “You don’t sound excited for me.”

“I—of course, I’m excited!”

“It’s not like you’re gonna be in Japan anyway,” Iwaizumi says, “so it’s not like you have any reason to be disappointed.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then why do you sound like this was the biggest letdown of your life?”

“I don’t sound that way!”

“I swear, if you conveniently forget, once more, that we’ve known each other our whole lives…”

Tooru wipes his palms on his hands. They are clammy yet feel cold, an indication that his nerves have gotten the better of him. “You didn’t respond to my text message, either.”

“One, you’re changing the subject, and two, that’s not anything new.”

“No.” Tooru pauses. “But consider what is _actually_ new.”

Tooru can hear the frown in Iwaizumi’s voice. “What, you mean like me going to California? That’s hardly breaking news when you—”

“I’m talking about how you kissed me yesterday? Remember that?”

The silence in the room is deafening. Damning, even, like a heavy anvil threaded to the ceiling by a single strand of hair that’s snapped by a single breath. Tooru tries to focus on steadying his breathing in an effort to calm his chest, but it’s no use. Tooru is a wreck. He has been, maybe, all along.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi clears his throat, and Tooru almost feels bad for giving him whiplash in the middle of their conversation. His voice cracks in the middle of his next thought. “I remember—yeah. That happened.”

“I’m trying to piece together why,” Tooru says slowly, as if he hadn’t run through every single scenario and explanation a million times in his head to be sure he accounted for all of them. “And I don’t really have an answer?”

The mattress squeaks under Iwaizumi’s body weight as he sits up to take his place at Tooru’s side. Tooru does not have the courage to look Iwaizumi in the face. He can see the grey sweatpants, with a tiny rip right at Iwaizumi’s left knee, and he can see Iwaizumi’s hands as he clasps them together. “You were the one who wanted a kiss.”

“I know, but—”

“And I know you’re all talk half the time, but I could _tell_ you meant it.”

“But you’re dating—”

“We’re not dating,” Iwaizumi interrupts. He sounds annoyed and Tooru relents, recalling their argument from yesterday, how he’d toyed with the word _boyfriend_ and it got Iwaizumi to storm away leaving Tooru with nothing but guilt hanging in the air. “It’s not like that, Oikawa. So drop it.”

“So you don’t want to date him?”

Iwaizumi sighs, frustrated, and Tooru almost feels bad for pressing the issue. He’s gone through the same thing, where other girls have decided they want him as a boyfriend before he’s decided if he wants them as a girlfriend. He knows he’s a hypocrite, but it’s different when it’s Iwaizumi and not him.

Tooru clenches his fists before his hands have time to start shaking. “Well, I would like an exchange.” He pauses, grasping for something—anything—to lighten the mood. “I think it’s only fair that if you kissed me, I get to kiss you. Once.”

“Huh?” Iwaizumi doesn’t sound disgusted or repulsed, which is a good thing, but he doesn’t exactly sound thrilled, either. “Where is this coming from?”

“Because, Iwa-chan, you kissed me and I didn’t even have time to react! That’s not fair. It’s like stunning me with a dirtier version of our A Quick to C combo.”

“Hold on.” Iwiazumi’s voice sounds strangled. “Do _not_ call it a…a dirty combo—”

“It happened so fast and I appreciate your thoughtfulness in wanting to make sure I don’t regret everything. But I just think you should’ve at least committed to it and made it something I _really_ don’t regret.”

Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair, and Tooru sneaks a glance from his peripheral vision. He could kiss Iwaizumi right now, if he let him. “What are you even saying?”

“I want a do-over.”

Tooru knows his cheeks are red. The words are there on the tip of his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say them. Saying _I’m in love with you_ so casually to someone he’s known for over half his life doesn’t seem appropriate, but neither does bending the truth in order to steal himself another kiss. Iwaizumi sits there without moving, the gentle hum of the vents filling up the lack of words in the air.

Tooru’s heart is on the line. Iwaizumi’s smart, and he’s picked up on it. Now the ball is in his court, and he gets to decide how to proceed—whether that’s tolerating Tooru’s shenanigans and going along with it, or shutting it down, completely and fully, before any seedling of something else begins to sprout.

In a surprising move, Iwaizumi doesn’t yell at him, or scold him, or throw a volleyball at him.

No, Iwaizumi doesn’t do any of those things.

He doesn’t do _anything_ ; instead, he says, “You already stole a kiss from me, so we’re even.”

A chill crawls down his spine and in the depths of his memory, where he, an impulsive, insufferable kid, had planted one on Iwaizumi’s face before he could even react. Iwaizumi had chased him down for what felt like hours after that, hurling insults and curses at Tooru for being such a brat.

He didn’t think Iwaizumi remembered that.

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi’s voice, impossibly soft, softer than anything Tooru has ever known from his best friend. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

Tooru’s throat tightens. He’s not at risk of crying, he’s sure of it, but he _is_ at risk of doing something very, very stupid with his also very stupid best friend. “Why’d you do it, Iwa-chan? I need you to tell me why.”

The words slip out of Iwaizumi’s mouth like a private confession meant to be heard only from God.

“Because I wanted to.”

For the first time since Tooru has entered Iwaizumi’s room, he turns to face him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very gay

There are moments in Hajime’s life where it feels like the truth that he’s always expected to remain a constant inevitably shifts, like hot sand beneath his feet. Like tides churning at see, Hajime’s world spins the moment Oikawa turns around to face him.

Hajime is not a particularly vulnerable guy. His honest confession surprises him, too, slipping easily off his lips in the same manner that he surged forward without thinking to kiss Oikawa. _Because I wanted to_. He swallows, and Oikawa’s brown eyes meet his, wide and open and lined with those stupidly long eyelashes of his. Hajime has seen Oikawa’s face a million times, and he has wished to punch it a few hundred thousand times, but there is something about this moment that causes Hajime to catch his breath and dig his nails in his palms to keep himself together.

Nothing can articulate the bubbling emotion that threatens to make Hajime _cry_ , of all things, when he looks at Oikawa and finally admit to himself that he is in love with his best friend.

 _I am in love with Oikawa_.

Oikawa Tooru, the pain in the ass kid who his mom forced him to become friends with. Oikawa Tooru, the one who made Hajime’s knees all scraped as they dug around for beetles and worms in the sizzling summer heat. Oikawa Tooru, who needled him into playing volleyball together, who taught him how to serve, who taught him what it meant to trust someone with everything you are and everything you have.

“Why?” Oikawa repeats. He draws out the world slowly, carefully.

“Do I need a better reason than that?”

For a charged beat, Oikawa’s pink mouth falls open. A gentle sigh as he blinks—it looks like the words have died in his throat, too.

Sometimes, as Oikawa is prone to brag about, Hajime and Oikawa are so closely connected that they can tell what the other’s thinking. On court, this worked to their advantage, where Oikawa could anticipate his every move and Hajime could read him faster than the best read blockers in the high school Japan volleyball scene. A shiver runs down his spine as he sees an answer he’s never allowed himself to even dream about having.

But words will not do enough. And so, Hajime reaches forward and loops a hand around the back of Oikawa’s neck. He pulls him forward and nudges aside Oikawa’s face with his nose in order to line up their lips properly, and a jolt runs through his body the moment the contact is made.

He ignores the fact that Oikawa had said he wanted to kiss him. He ignores that and, instead, indulges in his own desire, because at one point his memory making out with Nakatani had slowly transformed into a daydream where he can kiss Oikawa the same way, except now that memory is not a memory and is now his actual, lived reality. It’s not like yesterday’s kiss, which was chaste and fast and nothing more than a sneak attack.

It’s not like that all, because Oikawa’s mouth falls open and— _oh._

Oikawa does not kiss the way Hajime expected. He is not all aggression, nor is he all submission. Hajime lets him lead the way, because he’s still new to this, and even though he felt as though he got plenty of practice with Nakatani, that cannot and will not ever match up to the feelings he has right now. It’s when Oikawa’s tongue slips into his mouth that Hajime’s brain short circuits, and it’s all he can do to suppress an embarrassing sound that’s sort of a mix between a moan and a sigh—the moan, asking for more, the sigh, content with what he’s been given.

Oikawa’s hands tug at Iwaizumi’s hair, and before he can even realize what’s happening, Oikawa shoves Hajime’s hands away and mutters, “Back, back, _back_ ,” until Hajime’s shoulder blades are pressed up against his headboard and Oikawa’s crawling onto his lap to straddle him that Hajime realizes what the fuck they’re doing.

A strangled, “Stop,” right as Oikawa moves to lift Hajime’s chin towards him.

Oikawa freezes.

Hajime wishes he could undo that, because the dejected expression that crosses Oikawa’s face hurts Hajime’s chest. He’s always known that he’s cared about Oikawa, but it seems as if he didn’t realize the extent of those emotions, and everything is beginning to spill over, very quickly. Hajime’s chest rises and falls with ever millisecond that passes by, and Oikawa’s face has taken on a brilliantly pink shade sprinkling his cheekbones.

“Sorry,” Oikawa says, right at the same time Hajime says, “Okay.”

Oikawa tilts his head, brows pinched. “Huh?”

“I just—give me a second. This is a lot, and my brain is having trouble processing it.” Hajime knows for sure that he doesn’t have to explain it; his hands tremble and his voice cracks and he has trouble looking at Oikawa in the eye. He is afraid of what he’ll find there. He’s afraid of what he _won’t_ find there. But nothing is as scary as finally discovering all of these existing emotions of affection towards his childhood best friend. And nothing is as scary as bringing it to surface to finally breach that boundary of ‘just friends.’

Oikawa traces a single finger down Hajime’s temple, right along his hairline, then to the sharp corners of Hajime’s jaw. The touch makes him shiver. “We can take as long as you like.”

“Oikawa.” Hajime has called Oikawa a lot of names, but none of them can match up to the way _Oikawa_ fits so naturally in his mouth, like he’d been born whispering it to God when no one else understood him. “This isn’t just a kiss,” Hajime completes. “I need you to know that.”

Oikawa sucks in a breath. He nods, and Hajime’s about to crack a snarky joke about how Oikawa doesn’t look good when he’s about to cry, and no, Oikawa _can’t_ deny he’s about to cry because Hajime can see the tears glistening there. But then his mouth becomes preoccupied with other things, as in the fervent kisses that Oikawa presses into. His previous delicate nature of his kisses is gone, replaced with desperate kisses that leave Hajime breathless and yearning for more. If their first kiss could be classified as _innocent_ , and their second kiss _sweet_ , this one is most definitely _hot_.

He grabs at Oikawa by the front of his shirt, his chest warm under his fingers, and Hajime swears he’s about to see stars. It’s a lot to process, this kissing thing, but it’s even more to process when it’s with Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. His voice sounds shaky, and it comforts Hajime, knowing that Oikawa is as wrecked as he feels. He opens his eyes when he feels a wetness on his face, thinking that it confirms that Oikawa’s tears made their way out of his stubborn eyes, but he is surprised to find that he’s the one crying.

Oikawa wipes it away with a small smile on his face. “Why are _you_ crying?”

“You’re crying, too, dumbass.”

“You’re a good kisser.” Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “How’d you get to be that good so fast? You must have had a _lot_ of practice.”

“Shut up.”

“Am I better than Nakatani?”

“Oh my god. Shut the fuck up. Although you _would_ totally care about that. Loser.” Hajime jabs Oikawa in the waist, who shrieks and attempts to writhe away, but Hajime grabs Oikawa by the wrists and pulls him in for another kiss. His hands settle lazily around Oikawa’s hips and he doesn’t have any distinct thought, really, except that he cannot believe he’s gone this long without kissing Oikawa. When Oikawa’s fingers drift under the hem of Hajime’s shirt, creeping up against his torso, Hajime’s mind draws a blank.

Their bursts of passion on court is reflected here, too, as demonstrated by how, despite Hajime grunting in protest, Oikawa pulls away to rest his forehead against the headboard, his breath fanning, warm, against Iwaizumi’s ear. His hands feel a little cold against Hajime’s bear skin, but he’s not sure if the goosebumps he feels are from the cold or from the feeling of physical contact.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Oikawa murmurs.

Hajime takes a sharp intake of a breath.

“I think I am, too,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse, and he closes his eyes. He doesn’t trust himself to say more than that, so he simply mimics the motion Oikawa does, slipping his fingers up until his hands rest at the small of Oikawa’s back, memorizing the pattern of his spine’s ridges pressing against his skin. Oikawa’s breath shortens, and Hajime finds that he likes that, the sense that Oikawa unravels before him from a series of gentle, loving touches that he has never known.

There is the problem, of course, of going separate ways. Hajime’s throat tightens. He is prone to overthinking and overplaying, and so of course the impending doom of graduation is enough to make him begin to spin in anxiety. But when Oikawa’s lips connects with his neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there, Hajime’s anxiety dissolves.

None of that matters, not now—Hajime has waited too long, it feels like, though he didn’t even know he’d been waiting for this all along.

“To clarify,” Oikawa says, and Hajime _feels that_ against his Adam’s apple, “I want to date you. I want to cuddle with you. I want to take you to the movies and play more volleyball with you and have sex with you.”

“What—you—don’t—can we not go there right now?” The mention of sex makes Hajime choke on his own words, and he becomes increasingly aware of Oikawa’s hands drifting down rather than up.

“You don’t want to?” Oikawa shifts on his lap, a deliberate move to taunt the hardness there, and Hajime flushes.

“Don’t fucking _tease_ me, you little—”

Oikawa shuts him up with a kiss, and Hajime is beginning to realize that all their stupid arguments could have ended in record time if Oikawa had just kissed him stupid whenever Hajime started to get mad. In fact, Oikawa is likely beginning to realize that this is a very reliable, very viable solution to any time Hajime is set off. That’s probably not a great thing, but if every argument ended like this, with Hajime’s tongue sliding against Oikawa’s teeth and Oikawa’s hand resting innocently on his thigh, then yeah, Hajime totally wouldn’t mind.

In a surprising move, Hajime finds that his skin is too hot and he also wants to feel what it’s like to have Oikawa’s torso pressed against his. Hajime pushes Oikawa away just long enough to discard his shirt, and Oikawa’s eyes grow wide as they rake across his body.

Hajime grows increasingly self conscious about it, despite the fact that they’ve seen each other naked a countless number of times. His self consciousness evaporates when Oikawa takes off his shirt as well, and Hajime can drink in the smooth skin that is pulled taut over Oikawa’s shoulders, his chest, his back, his stomach. He traces his finger tips against Oikawa’s collarbone, who closes his eyes, and Hajime finds that he very desperately wants to place a kiss there, so he does.

Oikawa sighs.

 _I am half-naked with my best friend in my bed making out with him_ , Hajime thinks to himself, and he almost wants to laugh. The sentence is as ridiculous as it sounds.

“I want all those things,” Hajime murmurs against Oikawa’s skin, a private confession, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and he envelops Oikawa with his arms, tucking his chen over Oikawa’s shoulder, and squeezes him with a hug that they’ve never shared before. Hajime is accustomed to slaps on the back and shoulder pats. He is not used to hugs in which he can feel someone else’s heart flutter against his, like two butterflies begging to be freed from their cages. “Let’s take it one step at a time, yeah?”

Oikawa pulls back, face breaking into a wide grin as sun parts the clouds after a rainstorm.

Hajime doesn’t believe in soulmates. He believes in rationality, in logic, in patience, and in realism, and soulmates are antithetical to that. However, it becomes clear, to Hajime, that despite the shitstorm Oikawa often causes—and all the trouble he gets them into—there is no other person that fits into his life as well as Oikawa does. _If_ souls are real, and even if soulmates don’t exist, Hajime concedes that his soul is as much his own as it is Oikawa’s, comprised of volleyball tosses and milk bread and truthful confessions, mixed in with spontaneous trips to the market and lunches at the ramen shop down the street and stupid, stupid nicknames that shouldn’t be as endearing as they are.

“One step at a time,” Oikawa repeats, before leaning in for a kiss with the promise of many more to follow.

> * * *
> 
> “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
> 
> Emily Brontë, “Wuthering Heights”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the writing turned a little stale in the end but it's definitely because i've been just writing...too much...lately.
> 
> thus concludes part 1 of the "tried & true" series. i'm going to be outlining part 2 and 3 while completing a couple bokuaka and sakuatsu fics. you can expect to have part 2 coming in 2021, if you're interested.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this wholesome story. i needed something escapist and something that could cheer me up, which is why i didn't want to bring in too much drama. i guess this fic is kind of like an extended drabble lmao. 
> 
> my haikyuu twitter and tumblr @flatsumu if you ever wanna connect. thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/flatsumu)


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